Lionsnake Chronicles II: Harry and the Captured Pawn
by Eria
Summary: Sequel to Harry and the Viper's Chess. Harry returns to Hogwarts for his second year with a house-elf's warning in mind. As the term passes, he falls back into the habit of not seeking help when he most needs it. Harry tries to convince the House of Vipers that he's not the next Dark Lord but fails. If he can't convince his housemates, how will he convince the rest of Hogwarts?
1. Improper Use of Magic

_**Author's Notes: **Hello, if you're a new reader, I strongly recommend that you read **Lionsnake Chronicles I: ****Harry and the Viper's Nest **first, just so you understand how Harry ended up living with Snape as his legal guardian and how he settled in during his first year as a Slytherin._

_This is a Slytherin!Harry fanfic. There's no pairings yet, just to be clear. I like to stick with canon-based characterizations._

_I thought about breaking up this first chapter, but decided that it made more sense to keep it together. I must say, I had a lot of fun weaving all the elements of this chapter together._

_May you enjoy your reading adventure._

* * *

Not for the first time, Harry started eating breakfast alone at the pre-set dining table at number thirty-seven, Spinner's End.

He'd woken early as he usually did to let Hedwig in after she'd tapped her beak on his bedroom window.

As Harry drank apple juice and chewed on the toast smothered in strawberry jam, he grinned to himself, remembering his week-long stay at Sally-Anne Perks' house in a Muggle well-to-do neighborhood. It'd been great fun to be accepted into her circle of Muggle friends, and they'd gone on hikes, went camping, started fires, and told ghost stories like normal outdoorsy Muggles did.

A few days after, Harry had gone out to the Malfoy's palatial mansion and had surprisingly enjoyed his month stay with Draco, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Pike Lestrange, who was a year younger than them. Draco's mother in person was much warmer than Harry would have thought. Even though her voice and tone were glacial, she had treated Harry like a son; he was very glad that Draco didn't seem resentful that his mum had gone out of her way to make Harry feel welcome. It would have made Harry's long stay uncomfortable.

The Malfoys had hosted several charity events while Harry was there and he rubbed elbows with the upper-class witches and wizards who seemed more than happy to shake his hand and introduce themselves. It would have been quite boring if Draco hadn't performed some mischief to get them out of the various parties.

When Harry mentioned he'd never before played Exploding Snap, a wizard's card game, Draco had been positively _gleeful_, since he had discovered that Harry could match him at Wizard's chess. So, they had spent much of their free time playing it at Malfoy Manor with Crabbe, Lestrange, and Goyle when they were grew bored of playing Quidditch on their brooms, walking through the immense garden labyrinth surrounding the manor, or watching magical performances in Lucius Malfoy's personal theater.

Draco had mercilessly beat Harry several times and often bragged about it when there was a break in conversation. The other boy was compelled to fill silence with chatter. For that fact alone, Harry was supremely grateful that the Malfoys had not gained custody of him.

"What are you smirking about?" Severus Snape asked as he entered the cramped dining room. The table could seat only two and was flush against a corner. Harry's guardian took a seat in the only remaining chair and pulled the battered plastic cover off of his chipped ceramic plate.

"I was imagining how awful it would have been if I'd had to stay with the Malfoys." Harry took another bite of his toast.

The adult snorted in a sympathetic manner.

Ever since Harry had arrived at Spinner's End in Cokeworth, Severus Snape had treated him with reluctant civility. It was a far cry from the suspicion Harry had grown up with the Dursleys and the constant vigilance he'd had to impart to avoid his Cousin Dudley's abuse. Of course, Harry Potter _wasn't_ a normal boy.

Harry was a wizard—a wizard fresh from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After ten long years living with relatives that neglected or tormented him, Harry was glad to be rid of them. All he had to do was do a little bit of homework every day, and then he was free to fly his broom inside the tall hedges that somehow existed right outside the backdoor of Snape's tiny house; when viewed from the outside, the grassy space was non-existent and the tall hedges looked merely like well-pruned shrubbery.

Despite this, Harry missed Hogwarts castle with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes, eating banquets in the Great Hall, and chatting with the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid. He longed to go back to learn as much as he could about magic.

Harry's guardian was also a wizard and the Professor of Potions at Hogwarts. At the end of the school term, Harry had been required to undergo a bloodline analysis, so that he might be placed in a different home from the Dursleys. His relatives under Wizarding Law had committed the terrible crime of Child Mistreatment. Harry had known nothing else and believed when he first arrived at Hogwarts that the Dursleys' dislike of Harry had excused most of their behavior towards him. He hadn't known that being sent to his room—the cupboard under the stairs—and not being fed for a day or so, that being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly… constituted as neglect.

After all, he'd thought at the time that he hadn't starved to death and the Dursley adults hadn't beaten him. So their treatment of him, while nasty, hadn't seemed _that_ terrible to Harry, even after a licensed mediwitch had explained the extent of his injuries that his magic remembered what Harry could not.

He had been quite dissuaded of that notion after several sessions with Psych-Healer Fawley in an unused classroom at Hogwarts while Harry had awaited the Wizengamot's decision. She had said that he had all the signs of accidental Obliviation. That is, because of the abuse at the hands of his cousin and the unsupportive manner with which his aunt and uncle must have handled a younger Harry's allegations, Harry must have wished very hard to forget what had happened that his magic had altered his memories. The Psych-Healer had smiled sadly then and told Harry that he must have desperately wanted to love his adopted family to have made that choice. That statement had made Harry feel very strange. When she next asked how he felt about the Dursleys, he told her he didn't know. Harry held no love for the Dursleys, but he didn't exactly hate them either.

The court-ordered evaluation by Healers had informed Harry that he was below the average weight and height benchmarks for his age because of the Dursleys' persistent neglect. Every morning he drank a bitter-sweet nutritional potion for the past month and a half, and so far hadn't seen any change in his outward appearance. He was still short and skinny.

Harry had brilliant green eyes he'd inherited from his mother and messy jet-black hair from his father. He wore round glasses—though he had a fancy spare pair that he hadn't tried out yet—and on his forehead there was a thin, lightning-shaped scar, which made Harry very unusual even for a wizard. It was the only evidence that he'd survived a curse that was meant to kill him from an evil Dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. His parents had been murdered eleven years ago, but Harry had escaped, and somehow—nobody understood why—Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he failed to kill Harry.

Because of this, Harry had been brought up by his mother's horse-faced sister and her portly husband alongside their exceedingly fat and spoiled son. He had spent nearly his entire life never understanding why he made odd things happen without meaning to, since he had believed the Dursleys' story that he had gotten his scar in a car crash that killed both his intoxicated, delinquent parents.

And then, nearly a year ago, Harry had received a letter from Hogwarts, and the whole story came out. Harry had taken his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous…

Snape snorted to himself as he read through a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. "Idiots," he muttered as he drank Earl Grey tea.

Harry had noticed that Snape held no affection for his Muggle relatives, who had their memories of Harry erased when the Wizengamot had decided that the Dursleys were inadequate to retain custody of him.

Where Harry was scrawny and short, Professor Snape's tall stature gave the impression that a very strong breeze might knock him over. His black hair and eyes, sallow skin, yellow and uneven teeth, and hooked nose would not impress most people, but Harry knew it was what happened when someone didn't spend time in the sunlight for months at a time—well, except for the color of his eyes and hair and shape of his teeth and nose. Harry was sure the Potions Master had been born with those traits.

Living with his legal guardian, Severus Snape had taught Harry many things that had gone counter to the rules he'd been taught in the Dursley home. First and foremost, a house-elf was a small creature with a big head and giant, bulging eyeballs who _enjoyed_ doing menial labor. Second, while Harry was expected to tidy up his room, he was _not_ supposed to tidy up the rest of the house as that was Nanua's—Snape's house-elf—job. Third, Harry was expected to make noise when he moved about so Snape would know he was still living somewhere on the premises. Fourth, Harry was welcome to go down to the Potions Lab in the basement if he wanted to talk to Snape, so long as the sign outside the door read something along the lines of 'Proceed' or 'Enter'; if it had a 'No Entrance' or a biohazard symbol on the door, Harry knew well enough to stay away.

What was especially special today was that it was Harry's twelfth birthday. He didn't expect Snape to do anything, but he _hoped_—and Harry really shouldn't because Snape often would forget what the date was when he was in his lab for too long—that maybe he would perhaps mention it or even congratulate him. With the Dursleys, Harry had learned to expect absolutely nothing, not even acknowledgement.

Harry finished the last of his cold eggs and drank his bottomless mug of juice and waited patiently for Snape to finish reading.

Glancing at him, Snape folded the newspaper up. "Have you decided where we are going today?"

Harry froze. "Going?"

With a long pale finger, Snape tapped the date printed on the _Daily Prophet_. "Today is July Thirty-First," Snape drawled as if this was a very important date, and to Harry it was.

"Yes…" Harry said slowly, his heart beginning to pound.

Snape laid the newspaper down and entwined his fingers. "It is your twelfth birthday as the birthday presents in the sitting room would indicate. Were you planning on lazing about all day after opening your gifts—as is entirely your choice—or did you wish to go somewhere?"

Harry couldn't help it. He inhaled sharply as his eyes filled with tears. "You… you remembered."

His guardian stood up quickly. "Compose yourself," he said with a growl, "When you've made a decision, you will find me downstairs."

Snape left swiftly, his robes swelling out behind him. In the few weeks he'd been there, the Potions Master always found somewhere to be whenever Harry was on the verge of crying.

Harry wiped the tears from his face. He had no bloody clue what was interesting to visit other than Diagon Alley, the magical shopping center hidden behind the Leaky Cauldron in downtown London.

He nibbled on his lower lip and pushed the chair out. He walked the five long steps it took to the kitchen door and took barely three more through the tiny kitchen to push open the door to the sitting room. Closing the hidden door behind him which appeared to be a book shelf when it wasn't open, Harry glanced at the giant pile of birthday presents sitting beneath the room's only window next to a rickety old table. He then reached to his right to another shelf of books. It swung towards him slowly revealing a narrow door with 'Enter' in bold letters across it. Harry pushed that narrow door open, letting the heavy, book-laden door slide shut behind him. Musty basement air breezed towards him. Before him was a cramped, dimly lit stairwell with steep steps.

After he clomped down the worn stone steps, Harry leaned against the wooden support beam at the bottom of the stairs. His guardian was scribbling something with quill and ink onto parchment held down at the top corners by paperweights. Snape's Potions lab was the largest 'room' in the house and Harry was always amazed to see it, when the rooms above were so confined. "Sir? What would be a good place to go for one's birthday?"

Snape didn't answer at first. Then he placed the quill back into the inkwell and turned. "For a twelve-year-old boy who has spent most of his life among Muggles?" Snape pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I suggest Hogsmeade. It's the only entirely magical community in Great Britain, and most Hogwarts students don't visit there until their third year."

Harry grinned widely. "That sounds fun. How do we get there? By broom?"

His guardian snorted looking derisively towards the ceiling. "I refuse to travel by broom when Apparation is much more efficient and less physically taxing."

"But could we…?" Harry loved flying the broom more than _anything_.

"Hogsmeade is a two-hour trip by broom, if the weather is good, whereas Apparation takes mere seconds to traverse great distances."

Harry sighed. "Oh, all right." It sounded boring to him, but he supposed he shouldn't push his luck. "Are we going now?"

"You may want to change into robes," Snape advised.

"I'm fine wearing these," Harry said, gesturing to his denim trousers and cotton shirt.

"Far be it for me to tell you what to do on your birthday," Snape said to himself. "Very well, if you're ready, then let's be off. We'll Apparate from the garden."

Harry let out a whoop and ran up the steps, while Snape manually put out the gas-lit lamps in the basement. That was one of the strange things about this house. While it was wired for electric power, Snape had never paid to have it connected. Harry had found an old, dusty and cobwebbed television set crammed in the little attic along with other Muggle electronics and devices Snape had no use for. Of course, even if Harry had wanted to tinker with the junk he wouldn't be allowed, since Snape had magically locked the attic's only access door and forbade Nanua from unlocking it. With the lack of electricity, every room instead had either gas-lights or candle-lit lanterns.

"Bye, Nanua!" Harry called out in the sitting room, knowing that the house-elf would hear him.

"Farewell, Master Harry," responded the aged house-elf demurely from her perch on top of the door. He looked up at her with a grin. A week ago, Harry had given up any hope that she would call him just 'Harry'. He still teased her about it; she responded as expected by calling him 'Master Potter' instead. However, Nanua had quite the sense of humor. The reason he had given up was because of how she had retaliated when he didn't let it go.

At the next meal he and Snape shared, Nanua had imperiously and solemnly announced Harry as 'Lord Potter'. Harry had nearly choked on his first bite of mash. Blushing furiously because of the scathing look Snape had directed at him, Harry had turned to Nanua and begged her to _please_ just call him Harry like he had told her and to stop embarrassing him. A sound similar to a wheeze had erupted from his guardian then—half-snort, half-rasp—but when Harry had turned to see if he was alright Snape had been as blank-faced as ever.

Briefly waving at Nanua, Harry yanked yet another hidden door open to reveal a closed skinny door to his left and a shoe foyer straight ahead. Tromping through the cramped room, he shoved the outside door open and ran through, excited to be out of the house. The tall hedges obscured any other buildings around, for which Harry was grateful. He'd made the mistake once of exploring the area around number thirty-seven, which sat by a nasty-smelling, brown-colored river on Spinner's End. Needless to say, Snape had forbid him from doing so again when Harry had been chased by older hooligans because he wouldn't turn out his pockets on command.

Harry didn't mind all that much that he had to stay inside or near the house. They didn't live in a nice section of town and the air was always fresher in the garden behind Snape's home.

It didn't take long for Snape to join him. Even so, Harry could barely contain his excitement as he lightly bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Now," Snape said, "Take this." He offered a potion to Harry, who looked at it with a frown.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, sir."

Pocketing the vial, Snape merely raised an eyebrow and took a firm hold of Harry's arm. "Three… Two…" Before he said number one, Harry's arm twisted away from him and the world imploded. It felt like Harry's body was attempting to shrink itself down to a tiny speck. Before Harry quite knew what was going on, he had collapsed onto hard-packed dirt and had to mercilessly quash the impulse to vomit.

Snape roughly helped him up by the back of his shirt.

Harry adjusted his glasses and stumbled a little bit. Snape put a hand on Harry's arm to keep him from keeling over. The same blue vial was offered to Harry again. He took it without a word and drank it. He instantly felt better, and then the after-taste of the potion hit him. Harry made a face. "Can't you mask the flavor?"

Snape ignored him, the empty vial disappearing into his robes.

Used to that response after a frivolous complaint, Harry looked around. The town around him looked like it belonged a century in the past. There was nothing modern about it: No cars or street lights with electric bulbs, or even paved roads. It looked as if someone had contracted a bricklayer for the main throughway. The people all wore robes of various colors and styles; some wore hats and others didn't, but every single one of them was staring at Harry curiously. For once it wasn't because of the scar hiding underneath a fringe of hair; it was his clothes.

Harry grinned up at the taller adult. "Do they have a Quidditch shop here?"

Snape smirked and turned north. They were standing on a road called High Street. Harry looked around in excitement, taking in all the shops around him.

Finally finding a sign with a broom and snitch on it, Harry cackled as he ran past several startled witches and nearly plastered his face on the show-window where a beautiful black broom—a Nimbus Two Thousand and One by the little card's reckoning—was on display. "_Wicked_!"

"There's hardly enough improvement in the model to warrant replacing your Nimbus Two Thousand," Snape said over his shoulder and then opened the door to Three Hoops.

Harry immediately darted in looking around gleefully.

There were shelves upon shelves of Quidditch accessories, packs of the four balls used in Quidditch, pads and glasses for Quidditch players. Harry noticed the large selection of Hogwarts-themed gear, separated by House. By far Slytherin and Gryffindor out-represented Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

There were racks upon racks of uniforms and framed posters of world-famous Quidditch teams. Bottles of broomstick oil, jars of broomstick polish, and broom-bristle scissors for broom upkeep. There were special seats that could be put on a broom for long-distance flying or for better handling during a Quidditch match. There were about five different types of rubber grips that could be put onto the handle for extra hold. And then there were the displays of brooms. Harry was instantly drawn to them. They were actually selling antique Shooting Stars! 'A classic!' a moving ribbon on the card below it said.

"Interested in anything today, sir?" The storekeeper asked Harry.

"Not right now. I was just looking at your extensive inventory," Harry said smoothly, using a tone which he'd heard Draco use to butter up his father's business associates.

"Of course, take your time." The storekeeper stepped towards Snape, "Ah, Severus, how are you?"

"Well enough," Snape responded.

"Here to browse for your godson?"

"No, today is Harry's twelfth birthday. As most wizards his age, he is obsessed with Quidditch and broomsticks," Snape said drolly.

The storekeeper went rigid and then stiffly turned towards Harry, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter. My name is Barnaby Rosier."

"I didn't take any offense, Mr. Rosier." Harry grinned. "I do wonder if could you tell me the difference in dynamics between the Comet Two Sixty and the Nimbus Two Thousand?"

Rosier beamed. "The Comet series are far more sensitive and reliable as far as brooms go, but the Nimbus series outmatches any of the Comets with raw speed and delivery."

"I have a Nimbus Two Thousand," Harry said proudly. "I won my very first Quidditch match with it."

"Wonderful!" Rosier cheered for him. "With your build, you must be a Seeker. There are a few items I think you may be interested in. Come this way."

Harry followed the man into the depths of the store and listened extensively to his tips and suggestions about specialized padding, books on flying techniques, and aerodynamic hats and cloaks. Harry examined all of the merchandise the shopkeeper presented. Nothing really caught his eye but it was interesting nonetheless.

"Oh! There's something that just arrived today that I think you might want to look at. I'll be right back!" An excited Rosier bustled to the backroom without a backward look.

Harry glanced towards the front of the store. He didn't see Snape's dark form standing around, but he wasn't worried. He probably had better things to do than babysit him.

Turning back around, Harry nearly stepped on a house-elf that had bright green eyes and bat-like ears. The creature moved back and bowed so low that his long, thin nose touched the carpet. Unlike Nanua, this house-elf was wearing what looked like a dirty old pillow case with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

"Er, hullo," Harry said curiously. "Who might you be?"

"Harry Potter!" said the house-elf with a reedy, wavering voice, "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… Such an honor it is…"

"Right," Harry said feeling that something wasn't quite right about the situation he found himself in. He looked towards the door to the backroom, wondering when Rosier would reappear. "Is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Dobby said earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir…. It is difficult, sir…" The house-elf hung his head, "Dobby wonders where to begin…"

"How about the important bits?" Harry said.

The house-elf leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights. "Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, a few months past… that Harry Potter escaped _yet again_."

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes shone with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if Dobby has to shut his ears in the oven door later…"

Waving his hands towards the house-elf, Harry was sickened by the thought. "What? No, don't do that."

"But Dobby _must_. Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. If they ever knew, sir…"

"'They'? Who's they?"

"Dobby's family, sir. The wizard family Dobby serves, sir—" With a squeak, Dobby disappeared with a snap.

"Ah, there we are!" Rosier crowed excitedly.

Harry looked this way and that, but the house-elf had well and truly gone.

"So sorry for the wait," Rosier offered a rolled scroll to Harry, who was obliged to open it.

Unrolling it, Harry looked at the beautiful illustration of a red-wood broom. Below it were statistics on the broom design, Harry was stunned. It blew the Nimbus series out of the water. He peered at the animated broom without a rider. "The… Firebolt?"

"Won't be out until next year!" Rosier said gleefully.

"_Wow_," Harry murmured. "Can I have this?"

"Yes, keep it," Rosier's teeth were very straight and yellow. "I have a few more copies of it."

"Thanks! I'll keep you in mind when I need a new broom."

The storekeeper nodded. Just then the door opened, and a bell rang loudly in the backroom. "Excuse me."

Harry nodded and decided it was time for him to leave. He wasn't sure what to make of the house-elf yet… but he'd tell Snape about the strange encounter when he saw him.

As the shopkeeper helped his next customer, Harry stepped out of the store and looked up and down the street. He didn't see a tall, black-robed figure among the groups of chatty wizards and witches.

"Psst, Harry Potter!"

It was Dobby crouched in a small alley between Three Hoops and a leatherworking shop called The Beater.

"Dobby? What have you come to warn me about?"

The house-elf tore at his ears with a slight whinge in the back of his throat. "_Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts_," Dobby hissed out anxiously, pawing his ears.

"W-what? But I've got to go back—term starts first of September."

"No, no, no," Dobby squeaked, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously.

The house-elf had disappeared again.

Harry turned and saw Snape was standing in front of the alley, inspecting him.

"I was just—" Harry turned to look back at where the house-elf had been. "There was a house-elf that wanted to talk to me."

"In a darkened alley? You're lucky the creature didn't kidnap you."

Harry's ears turned pink, and he stepped out of the alley. "Sorry, sir."

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I think I am." Harry looked up towards the sun. "How long was I in Three Hoops?"

"It's half past noon," Snape said over his shoulder as he headed down the street.

Nearly three hours? Harry quickly caught up to him.

A pub called The Three Broomsticks came into view, squished on the corner between two oddly-shaped buildings that didn't have street access. Harry wondered if they might be apartments.

"You'll either have ice water or Butterbeer," his guardian directed.

"Yes, sir." Harry entered after him and followed to a booth in the far left corner. Snape sat down with his back towards the corner, and Harry took the seat across from him. Two menus fluttered onto the table, and Harry eagerly looked his over.

The Three Broomsticks had all sorts of curious people in it of all shapes and sizes. It reminded Harry a little of the Leaky Cauldron, except everyone was dressed nicer.

It was a full hour before they'd left. Harry was full of fried fish and chips that had tap-danced on his plate before they went still and was feeling a little light-headed because of the sweet, creamy Butterbeer no matter how much water he drank. Snape had eaten a small bowl of salad with little raisins that sang in harmonized 'C'. The Potions Master had seemed to enjoy chomping on the raisins which squealed and then fell silent.

"Is there a sweets shop?" Harry wondered aloud after they left the pub and ventured down the street. Snape hadn't let him order dessert, so Harry was craving sweets.

"Honeydukes is straight ahead. I will be at the Slughorn Apothecary three stores up the adjacent side street. Do stay out of trouble," Snape said drolly.

Harry took off like a shot, weaving through the staring groups of magical folk and apologizing when he bumped into strangers. A cheery, squat building sat on a corner lot; a small side alley ran diagonally from it. Harry went straight inside the brightly colored building, seeing the hard candies and striped lollipops on display. Cheerful music played and the air was a mite cooler than it'd been outside as he stepped through the door.

Harry looked around. There weren't any other customers around. A solid-framed woman stood behind the counter, packaging bags of what looked to be toffees with a flick of her wand. "Hello, dear. If there's anything you're looking for, just let me know."

There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Cream chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, soft-colored orbs with a sign declaring it 'Whizzing Fizzbees'. Along another wall were 'Special Effects' sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum ("fill a room with bluebell-colored bubbles that refuse to pop for days!"), splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps ("breathe fire for your friends!"), Ice Mice ("hear your teeth chatter and squeak!"), peppermint creams shaped like toads ("hop realistically in the stomach!"), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons.

As he continued to wander into the forest of candy and sweets stands, Harry found a corner with 'Unusual Tastes'. There was a tray of Blood Lollipops and Pus Suckers and bags of Cockroach Clusters. Harry let his eyes wander up the wall at the very wide selection of insect-centric candies they had, wondering who would eat them.

"Harry Potter, there is a plot," a squeaky voice emanated behind a large stack of Mud Fudge and Gravel Brittle.

Harry blinked, seeing one eye peering from behind the unusual sweets. "Does it have anything to do with…" He looked around and lowered his voice, "Voldemort, has it?"

"Ah," the house-elf moaned piteously, "Speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, looking over his shoulder. He couldn't see the counter from where he was. "Well, has it got to do with You-Know-Who?"

"No, sir. Not—not _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_, sir—"

"Well, then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts. I mean, there's Dumbledore for one thing—you know who he is, right?"

Dobby bowed his head. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir—" His voice dropped to an urgent whisper, "There are powers Dumbledore doesn't… powers no decent wizard…"

With a pop, the house-elf was no longer behind the table. He had seized a large sweets cookbook and began to beat himself in the head. "_Bad_ Dobby! _Bad_ Dobby!"

Harry immediately grabbed the book, preventing the little creature from harming itself further. "Stop that!" He hissed, clutching the book and looking over his shoulder. He wondered if perhaps the sheer volume of sweets around them had muffled the house-elf's cries.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the house-elf, who'd gone slightly cross-eyed and was shaking like a small dog. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family."

Breathing out slowly, Harry tried not to get angry at whoever owned the poor elf. He knew from being around Nanua that Dobby's behavior and state of clothes were abnormal. Harry desperately wanted to ask him who his family was, but he had to stay on topic. There was no guarantee that the house-elf could even tell him.

Harry put the book back on the table. "Look, I will return to Hogwarts, even if someone is planning to make something bad happen. All my friends are there."

"_Friends_ who don't even _write_ to Harry Potter?" Dobby's eyes were large and wide, his mouth in a sly grin.

"I expect they've been busy—wait a bleeding minute," Harry said with a frown. "How do _you_ know my friends haven't been writing to me since last month?"

Dobby shuffled his feet. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best—"

"_Have you been stopping my letters_?" Harry growled.

"Dobby has them here, sir." Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat writing, Draco's over-flourished loops, Sally-Anne's untidy scrawl, a scribble that looked as though it was from Hagrid, and those were just the ones jutting out the top.

Harry was furious. "Give them to me."

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry…" The house-elf repeated. "Dobby hoped that if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him… Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir…"

Unable to contain himself any longer, Harry made a grab for them.

Spryly, Dobby jumped onto a tall container of Gargling Butter Drops. "Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No! I love going to Hogwarts! Now, give me my letters!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the elf said sadly. "Harry Potter leaves Dobby with no choice."

Dobby snapped his finger, and the largest container of colorful gumballs Harry had ever seen began to float.

Harry's stomach lurched. "No," he croaked as he looked around. The woman at the counter was no longer there. "Please put it down."

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school—"

"Dobby, put it down!" Harry had raised his hands up. "Slowly!" If that display fell, he imagined that he'd be grounded for the rest of the summer break.

"Say it, sir." The house-elf was not enjoying this in the slightest, Harry saw.

When Harry had visited Draco, he had told Harry that when you swore to do something your magic often forced you to follow your promise. Harry swallowed the lie he wanted to speak. "I… I can't."

Dobby gave him a tragic look. "Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

A woman shrieked behind Harry, and the entire display crashed to the floor. With a crack like a whip—partially masked by the breaking glass—Dobby vanished.

Stunned, Harry was ankle-deep in colorful candy. He turned around fearfully.

At first, it looked as though the woman might forgive him, but then her mouth twisted sourly and she charged out from behind the counter. "_Bolla Reparo,"_ she cast as she jabbed her golden brown wand at the mess.

Just as Harry's glasses had repaired themselves on the train ride last year, the display—minus its contents—jumped back onto the shelf, good as new.

"It-it wasn't me," Harry stammered out, still ankle-deep in gumballs, "There was a—"

"Are your parents around? Someone is going to have to pay for my lost merchandise," the witch said sharply. There was a man hovering over her shoulder now, looking woefully at the candy on the floor.

"I-I can pay." Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts—a Goblin-run bank in London—was a small fortune that Harry's parents had left him. Harry didn't have direct access to it, but it was likely that Snape would allow Harry to pay for the damages.

"This is worth at least fifty Galleons," she said shrewdly, "I don't suppose you have that much." She looked Harry up and down with a look that obviously said she didn't believe he did.

An owl swooped by the large front window and suddenly a red letter had fallen somewhere from the rafters. Harry swallowed and went to open it, but the letter suddenly became animated. The back pieces warped into a facsimile of pinched lips.

"_Dear Mr. Harry Potter, we have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used in Honeydukes' Delicious Sweets and Special Confectionaries by you this afternoon at seventeen minutes past two_."

Harry gulped, his eyes wide at the fluttering letter. Snape was going to kill him.

"_As you know, Underage Wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely, Zalphine Gobfinn, from the Improper Use of Magic Office in the Ministry of Magic_."

The scarlet letter flopped to the floor on top of the gumballs and then burst into flame.

Harry's ears were ringing with panic. He carefully looked up to the two adults watching his every move.

"_You're_ Harry Potter?" The man asked incredulously, stepping forward to take one of Harry's hands. "I've always wanted to meet you! Herman Honeyduke is the name! This is my wife, Beatrice."

Harry's hand was shaken in a very strong grip.

The witch shot a dirty look at her husband.

"But th-the candy," Harry stuttered as the wizard pulled him towards the counter. Harry looked over his shoulder and saw the gumballs vanish with a flick of Mrs. Honeyduke's wrist.

"Would you mind terribly if you signed—" Mr. Honeyduke said.

The door to Honeydukes burst open, and Harry's guardian stormed in, black robes swirling in a menacing manner about him. "_Potter,_" Snape hissed, a red letter clutched in his hand.

Harry gave the candy store owner an apologetic look and walked towards Snape. "S-sir, I didn't—it was a house—"

"Wand. Now," Snape enunciated clearly, a waiting hand held out and up.

Harry flushed, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. When he found only the scroll that the Quidditch storekeeper had given but not his wand, Harry checked again and then felt around the hem of his pants. It was then that Harry realized he'd forgotten to take his wand with him, that it was still under his pillow where he'd placed it last night. "I-I don't have it, sir," Harry's voice was tiny as he shrunk in on himself.

"Am I to believe that you performed a Hover Charm _wandlessly_?" Snape asked sharply.

"I didn't do it," Harry gasped out. He was telling the truth!

"I don't recall seeing him with a wand in his hand at all," Mrs. Honeyduke said mostly to herself.

Snape's eyes raked over Harry, making him squirm. "You _claim_ you didn't use magic, and yet this notice clearly states that you did. What," he said very slowly, "happened?"

"It was the house-elf. From the alley and in Three Hoops."

Quiet consideration emerged in Snape's beady eyes. "I see." He turned to Mrs. Honeyduke. "Could you corroborate his account to have this fluke removed from his record?"

Her eyes squinted as she concentrated, and then she smiled. "I _did_ hear a crack of Apparation," she agreed. "Who would believe a twelve-year-old could cast a Hover Charm without a wand in hand? Nonsense, I say."

"Thank you." Snape gave Harry a stern look. "We have overstayed our visit here."

"Er, sir. Even though it wasn't my fault, they lost fifty Galleons' worth of merchandise when that display crashed to the floor…"

Snape blinked at the large empty case Harry had directed him to look at and then looked to the Honeydukes.

"It's not a problem, Mr. Snape," Herman Honeyduke said congenially.

From within his robes, Snape pulled out a money bag and set it on the counter. "You should find that this will cover any loss of profit. Harry will be forbidden from returning for a year." Snape turned and looked at Harry severely, eyes flicking towards the Honeydukes.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Mr. and Mrs. Honeyduke," Harry said.

The man grabbed a bag of toffees from the tray on the counter. "Here you are, lad. Come visit us again when you are able."

Snape and Harry walked out of Honeydukes. "I can't leave you alone for even one moment, can I?" He murmured.

"Sorry, sir."

Harry walked alongside his legal guardian, looking up at him anxiously. He worried about what would happen when they returned to Snape's house on Spinner's End. Since taking Harry in, his guardian never once lifted a hand in anger no matter what foolishness he'd gotten up to, but that didn't mean that Harry would go unpunished. Harry had spent half of the school year in detention because of his rule-breaking before… He learned very quickly that there were always consequences for his choices whether or not Harry intended the end result.

Snape glanced down at him. "I believe there is more to this story that will have to wait until we arrive home."

They strolled to a clearing, and then his guardian gripped Harry's upper arm tightly. Without warning, Harry felt like his eyeballs were trying to dig into his sockets and his eardrums were attempting to puncture themselves. Everything was dark, and he felt as if he were being crushed, suffocating.

This time Harry landed on his rear. Snape didn't help him up, yet he remained waiting for Harry to recover.

"I think I prefer flying a broom," Harry said decisively, hanging his head forward. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Come."

Forcing himself up, Harry recovered enough to walk unsteadily, and he entered through the foyer door. Snape was nowhere in sight.

"Master Harry, sit and drink tea." Nanua led him gently through the sitting room and kitchen and had him take a chair. "You've had quite the scare, I hear." Her large blue irises implored him to do as she had asked. Harry was relieved to sit and sipped the tea. Instantly his stomach settled and he felt less dizzy. Based off what it remedied, Harry thought his tea might be spiked with whatever potion Snape had given him earlier. "Thank you, Nanua."

"Now," she began matronly, "What's this about a _house-elf_ bothering you?"

"He's been stopping my letters, Nanua. You know how I wondered about why I seemed only to be getting parcels a little after I went to Draco's place?"

She smacked her thin lips angrily. "What a naughty house-elf, he is. Do you know his name, Master Harry?"

"Dobby. He had large floppy ears and green eyes, and he was wearing a grimy pillowcase for clothes. I think his family's been _mistreating_ him."

Her gnarled fingers pressed against her cheek. "That name is familiar…"

Through the doorway across from Harry, Snape reappeared with Harry's wand wrapped in something that looked like plastic.

Harry sat up straighter.

"You are not to touch your wand until the Ministry has an investigator sent to analyze it." His guardian set the holly wand down on the table and took a seat. "With Beatrice Honeyduke's account, your record will in due time be cleared of the false charge that you've used magic outside of school."

After his stomach grew queasy again, Harry took another swallow of tea. Quite suddenly the severity of what the house-elf had attempted to do hit Harry. Dobby had tried to get Harry expelled so that he could not return to Hogwarts because of the 'bad things' that might happen that year. Harry gulped down the rest of the tea and set the empty teacup on its saucer. It quietly refilled itself.

"Now," Snape said touching the tips of his fingers together, "Start from the beginning, when this house-elf first appeared. I want descriptions, manner of speech, words and actions. House-elves don't generally leave their place of residence unless their master orders something of them that requires it."

So, Harry told him all about the curious, wretched creature named Dobby, who insisted that Harry didn't return to Hogwarts.

When Harry initially declared the house-elf's name, Snape's black eyes had gone dark with anger though none of it showed on his face. He didn't interrupt Harry's account though, patiently waiting until the very end.

"Just as I thought, someone is plotting to do you lethal harm," Snape said smoothly.

Harry shivered. "Do _you_ know whose family Dobby belongs to?"

"If a family hides the creature away from public eye, any accusations of mistreatment will fall on deaf ears in the Ministry. It is better to leave it be," Snape said callously.

"But I can't leave him like that!" Harry exploded.

"Do you think I _enjoy_ telling you there's nothing to be done?" Snape said derisively.

"You know which family Dobby belongs to, don't you?"

"I do not," Snape said curtly, meeting Harry's gaze easily.

With a scowl, Harry looked away.

"Harry," Snape said quietly.

Harry cautiously met his gaze.

"You are _never_ to leave home without your wand again."

"But I can't use magic, what's the point?" Harry said angrily.

"_What's the_—" Snape took a sharp breath, lifted his hand to his face, and dropped it before he could make contact. "There are _exceptions_ to that rule. Did you learn _nothing_ from the excerpts of British and International Magical Decrees you were assigned last April?"

"I remember a good bit about what's illegal to import into Britain," he said lamely, recalling the illegal dragon he'd helped save from certain death last year at Hogwarts. Harry's eyes were affixed on Snape's face as it colored with anger.

"Sweet Rowena, be merciful," Snape grit out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Harry allowed him a few breaths of quiet, before he asked, "What did I miss that was so obvious that you didn't think to write a question about it?" Truthfully Harry was remembering quite a bit of Wizarding Law now, but only the parts he had to write about.

Dropping his hand, Snape's furious black eyes pinned Harry to the spot.

Harry looked down, sweaty hands clenched around the teacup. He reminded himself that there was no cupboard under the stairs at number thirty-seven on Spinner's End and that for all his guardian's barbed words Harry was never denied food or shoved around.

"If you _ever_ find yourself in a situation where your life is endangered, you are allowed to use magic," his guardian said very slowly through his teeth. "The exception being that the Statute of Secrecy must not be broken."

Harry thought back to the heavy scroll, trying to remember if he'd even read that. He had an inkling that he had, but had dismissed it out of hand.

"Now," Snape said much more neutrally. Harry looked up to see that his guardian's coloring had gone sallow again. "What did I tell you that you are _never_ to do _ever_ _again_?"

"I am never to leave the house without my wand," Harry answered dully.

"_Why_?" Snape asked slowly, eyes narrowing.

"Because I have to protect myself in case someone tries to murder me," he responded coolly. It made sense, Harry reasoned. Voldemort had tried to kill him twice already, which was much more than most persons of his age had to deal with.

"You may yet manage to keep your fool self from getting killed." Snape stood up, habitually adjusting his robes.

It was when Snape took up Harry's wand that Harry realized he'd forgotten to ask a very important question. "Er, how long is it going to take for everything to get sorted out?"

"Likely a month or more."

"Oh." Theodore and the four Slytherin girls Harry had yet to visit weren't going to let Harry hear the end of it when school started. "I'm _grounded_?" He asked just to be sure.

Snape smiled thinly. "Perhaps by the time your record is cleared you'll remember you're a famous wizard and not a middling Muggle."

Harry slumped back into his chair with a groan. "What about my letters? Dobby's taken them all, stopped them from reaching me."

His guardian looked to his house-elf, who answered promptly, "I will take care of that, Master Harry. Don't you worry about that." Nanua patted Harry's arm with her bony fingers. "Your letters will be returned to you."

Without another word, Snape left the dining room.

Standing, Harry decided he really ought to get started unwrapping those presents so he could send out the thank-you letters to everyone. He took a deep breath and went into the sitting room.


	2. A Unique Manuscript

_**Author's Notes: **Phew. I'm a little afraid that I'm spoiling you all. Please do not expect crazy twice-a-day updates all the time. Yay for a fun chapter of backstories and explanations that my muse completely made up. Now if I could train her to stop waking me up at three in the morning to write..._

* * *

The following week, Nanua had delivered the weeks-late letters. Draco had sent five letters in all. Harry opened them and then put them into chronological order. The first two were his usual normal sort, bragging about whatever he'd gotten up to and asking nosy or tiresome questions about Harry: what he liked, what he didn't like, what he thought about the newest Muggle Protection Act being debated in the chamber.

Like usual, Harry answered Draco ambivalently about any questions about himself. About the Muggle Protection Act, he was strongly in favor of it getting passed. As he read the third letter, Harry was saddened to hear that Draco's surviving grandfather, Cygnus Black, III, had died after drinking incorrectly brewed Moonshine that he himself had prepared and distilled. Draco did not feel the same way as Harry did.

_Grandfather Black drank and swore too much and was embarrassing to bring out in public since he was never sober. He'd always been nasty to me, bullied my mother, and insinuated horrible things about my grandmother. It was because Mother has unusual hair coloring. He saw it as a sign of infidelity, the nutter. Additionally, ever since your Pedigree Scroll was put on public display, Grandfather Black wanted Father to have me cut off ties with you since you're a Half-Blood. He never cared that you're the Boy-Who-Lived or the Heir to the Potter bloodline or you've the magic to overcome the Killing Curse. Honestly, I'm happy he's dead._

Harry had to pause a moment and blink.

_I'm happy he's dead._

If Draco Malfoy found his maternal grandfather so foul, Harry thought it was probably a good thing that he'd never gotten the chance to meet him.

The letter ended with Draco formally inviting him to the funeral.

Unsure how to respond, Harry read the next one which was mostly of Draco asking whether he had offended him and to please kindly respond because he missed his letters. Amused, Harry quickly read the last one, which was much less passive in tone and much more irate and aggressive.

_If I don't get a response by the tenth of August I'm going to tell my father that I think my godfather is illegally keeping my letters from you, which will result in immediate suspension of Legal Guardianship. _

That threat put ice in Harry's stomach. It had been difficult enough for the courts to place the Boy-Who-Lived with a former Death Eater. Just the faintest whiff of wrongdoing might mean Harry would be whisked away to live with the Malfoys, a thought that sickened Harry.

It was truly awful that of the fifteen or so blood relatives with magical ability, only two had stepped up to claim Harry. Why his great-aunt Augusta Longbottom hadn't done so had bothered Harry while the courts were still ruminating over whether to choose Lucius Malfoy or Severus Snape. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what his relation was to Neville Longbottom.

So, Harry wrote out his condolences to Draco about his grandfather, and then told him, in no uncertain terms, was Snape to be blamed for Harry's late reply. _A house-elf kept my letters because he thought I wouldn't want to go if my friends ignored me. It might have worked if I was five. He thought that I ought not to go to Hogwarts for my own protection._

"Hedwig, I have an urgent delivery for you," Harry said to his owl as soon as he'd signed it and finished preparing the letter for transport.

She squawk-screeched from her perch and fluttered her wings to lift herself into the air and land lightly on his shoulder. He carefully stroked her head-feathers and offered the envelope to her. Hedwig snapped her beak on it and hopped off his shoulder; her left wing roughly stroked his face as she flew past and out the open window. He watched her in the early morning light until he could see her no more.

Twice already a caseworker had visited the last house on Spinner's End, and each time the stuffy witch had scoured the place from attic to basement as if she expected some Dark object to jump out at her. In her first interview with Harry, Ms. Jenkins had kept trying to lead his answers to imply that he was being mistreated or that he was being taught Dark Arts. Harry had _almost_ lost his temper with her several times. If Nanua hadn't popped in with freshly baked lemon biscuits or cups of tea laced with cream and sugar, Harry thought he might have said something he shouldn't have.

Harry sighed. Ms. Jenkins was due to come again within the next few days. He bent over his desk and opened his next letter and quickly wrote responses to Hagrid, Hermione, and each of his fellow Slytherins—excepting Theodore who was too busy to pen a note and Crabbe who hated to write and read when he didn't need to.

The next day, it was with pleasant surprise when Nanua led someone, who _wasn't_ Ms. Jenkins, into the undersized library, where Harry was finishing up the last of his summer Transfigurations essays.

He looked up, did a double-take, and then jumped to his feet to greet his friend. "Theo? You've gotten taller!"

Well-tanned, Theodore Nott grinned broadly, looking down at himself. "Hit another growth spurt, I did. I see you're still a runt."

"I've grown two inches," Harry said defensively. "What're you doing here?"

"Professor Snape asked my da if I could kindly visit for a few days to keep you out of trouble, while he was unraveling that ruddy Official Warning of Improper Use of Magic you received," Theodore Nott grinned. "You're lucky to have such a strong alibi. Only _you_ would forget your wand at home."

Harry huffed. "So, what've you been up to all summer? I imagine it's somewhere around the equator, judging by that tan."

"We've been traveling through Paraguay and Brazil. Da's a collector of Enchanted and Bewitched Objects, and every now and then he likes to go to exotic places for fresh finds."

That would explain the book on Dark Artifacts Harry kept in his locked trunk.

"Did he find anything?"

"Oh, yeah. Loads." Theodore pulled an old book that looked like it was about to fall apart from his bag. "I thought you might like this one. Take a look."

Harry gently took it and opened it to the title page, which was handwritten in a language he thought looked like Latin. He didn't think it _looked_ like anything special. It was just a tattered, musty old book.

Theodore pointed along the edge of the page where a long line of Roman Numerals were stacked up upon each other. "Do you see that? This was written nearly thirteen hundred years ago! Da couldn't believe that the Preservation Charms had lasted so long. He said someone must have kept reapplying them."

With fresh eyes, Harry realized that this was much more than an _antique;_ it was an historical artifact… He very carefully flipped through the pages, where none of the illustrations moved. "So, it's really old. What's there to like?"

"It's a _very_ rare Roman translation of an Egyptian potion-making book."

"What was it doing in Paraguay? Or was it Brazil?"

Theodore chuckled. "Actually, Da bought it off a Muggle bloke in the Congo. Said he inherited from his loony great aunt."

"And by 'loony'… he really meant—"

"A witch, yeah." Theodore looked over his shoulder. "I think you'd like it because very few copies of it survived the first burning of the Library of Alexandria."

"First? I thought it was the only one as it's destroyed now," Harry said trying to make sense of the gibberish on the yellowed and bound papyrus in front of him. There were some gruesome diagrams and pictures, which didn't move.

Theodore snickered a little. "No, it was made Unplottable—meaning no one can find it unless they know exactly where to look—and it's protected by defenses as thick as they get. That library is so jealously guarded that only a handful of people can actually handle the archives. _That_ translation in particular has never been spotted outside of the Library of Alexandria. Da thinks it'll fetch a high price to the right bidder." Theodore lifted his eyebrows at that. "So are you interested in a one-of-a-kind potion-making manual?"

"That I can't even _read_?" A grin formed on Harry's lips because Theodore must have guessed that Harry had been at a loss of what to give his guardian for Christmas.

"I didn't think you wanted it for personal use." Theodore looked pointedly at the interior of the room lined with books, which was well-taken care of, but was… well, shabby. "I thought perhaps you might want to show your appreciation to a certain Potions Master for rescuing you from year-round Malfoy pomposity for the next five years."

Gently setting the ancient book down, Harry opened the drawer of the desk, which Snape had allowed for his private use, and pulled out a squarish, yet thin leather-bound book about the size of a post card. It was a chequebook, which Nanua had handed to him along with his delayed letters to 'keep his finances in order'. "How much you wager it's going for?"

"Five thousand Galleons at the least."

"_Five_ thousand? You think I can afford a book worth that much?"

Theodore waved it slightly in front of him. "It's one of a kind, Harry. I can guarantee that Professor Snape doesn't have it in his collection and would desperately want it if he had the money."

"I'll buy it for one thousand."

His friend laughed. "You drive such a hard bargain, you rascal! Sadly, my da said no less than four."

Looking at his ledger where the sum total of Galleons he had in the account was listed, Harry thought for a moment. It was only a tenth of what he had, so Harry wrote a cheque for four thousand Galleons with the special quill and ink that had come with the chequebook and signed it with exaggerated loops. He pulled the thick sleeve of parchment out and handed it to Theodore. "That should do it."

His friend's eyes widened slightly, but he smoothly accepted the cheque without comment and then very carefully slipped it between the pages of another book he had. Grinning cheekily, Theodore asked. "So, did you like my birthday present?"

Harry nodded and then prodded the wristband of a watch with no face that he'd strapped to his forearm since he already had a Muggle wristwatch on his left wrist. "I would if I knew what it did."

"You remember my bracelet, the one that detects Dark Creatures? Since I know you don't fancy rings or jewelry, I figured you might like a Bewitched Muggle Watch. It's a bit fancier than the one I own. Along with going cold, it reveals the shadow of the Dark Creature nearby."

"_Wow_," Harry breathed out, staring at it. "This must have cost a fortune."

"Would've if Da didn't make it specifically for you. It's what he does for a living. He's very superstitious, he is. Believes that the Dark Lord might try something again this school term."

_Dark Lord_, again Harry was bothered by that title. In the historical accounts that Harry had read the title had been used to describe any Dark wizard who publicly sought to overthrow those currently in power. When a Dark Lord was successful, it nearly always led to a century of tyranny, until those who were downtrodden successfully revolted or one of the Dark Lord's closely held followers enacted a coup. Both options led to instability and bloodshed for a number of years until fighting factions consolidated and agreed to rule in peace. "Theo, _why_ do you and Draco call Voldemort that? I mean, you both sound as if you're speaking of a hero or a king."

"Well," Theodore said thoughtfully. "I suppose it's because the adults I grew up do and the fact he's…" He hesitated. "Well, you have every right to hate him for what he did to you and your family… so I don't know if you'd understand if I explained why he's called _the_ Dark Lord."

Harry's eyebrows drew down in a frown. "Go on."

"When I was growing up, he wasn't treated like the bogeyman. Not like other Wizarding families do, I suspect. The Dark Lord is the protector of pureblood families, especially those with ties to the darker side of magic. You see, before he showed up, anyone who did anything Dark for a living, like someone who raised an Opalescent Lionsnake—a quantifiable Dark Creature—to make antivenin was branded evil and made a Pariah."

Harry frowned at the term 'Pariah'. It must have a deeper meaning to it than 'outcast'.

"No one would help you; it was every man for himself. Any property you owned would get trashed, your livelihood besmirched, your family name disgraced, and your reputation tarnished. If caught, you'd get arrested and locked up indefinitely. If anybody tried to help you, they met a similar fate. It didn't matter if the purpose of your Art intended to do good; after Grindelwald, all Dark Arts were made forbidden to practice, other than for Defense against them."

A part of Harry didn't want to understand. "It doesn't change the fact that Voldemort's a _murderer_," he managed somewhat calmly.

"I know it's not. My da and I respect his power, but we don't worship and idolize him like other families do," his year-mate said quietly. "The Dark Lord is the champion of Dark Arts. Many of us in Slytherin have families steeped in that stained tradition, which hangs over our head no matter where we go. It's why it was so unusual to see _you_ Sorted among us. Potters were champions of the Illume Arts after all."

"Illume Arts…?" Harry said.

"Holy, aural, and healing spells or charms. Also any study relating to Divination. It is magic that is of the light rather than the shadow. It is the predominant Art that is taught within Hogwarts."

"Are there _other_ types?"

"Sure," Theodore said, "there's the Runic Arts, which the students in Ravenclaw tend to excel at since it deals with Runes, Astrology, Numerology, and Arithmancy, all things that require specific calculations into etheric chaos. Then there's the Terra Arts, such as Herbology, Astronomy, Magizoology, Weatherwatching, and other disciplines that study or _change_ our natural world. You can guess which house those fall under."

"So _most_ Charms would be under the Illume Arts, while Transfigurations would be a Terra Art…?" Harry said.

"Exactly." Theodore nodded with a grin.

"What about Potions?"

Theodore raised an eyebrow with a look of 'you figure it out'.

"…It's a Dark Art," Harry stated, thinking he was mistaken. "But… if only the Defense Against Dark Arts were allowed…" He then tried to imagine _not_ having potions.

"Funny, isn't it? Imagine _potions_ being unavailable because Potions Masters had all been rounded up and carted to Azkaban." Theodore's face turned grim. "A lot of people died or suffered quite terribly when they didn't have access to potions all because the general public was terrified of the Dark Arts."

It explained why someone might join Voldemort: to fight against unjustified prejudice. Harry still didn't like it. "But things have changed, haven't they?"

"Not nearly enough. Nowadays, potion-making is seen as the only respectable Dark Arts profession… But back then…" Theodore shook his head to himself. "If the former Headmaster of Hogwarts hadn't allowed potion-making to be taught, then Hogwarts wouldn't have the top Potions classes internationally as it does now; it'd been banned across the continent. The bonus is that Da told me that they'll hire you just about anywhere if you get a Potions N.E.W.T. from Hogwarts and they don't require that you get any extra schooling."

Harry gave Theodore a funny look. "But Draco told me that Professor Snape wants to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"I don't really blame Professor Snape," Theodore said, "Even among third-tier schools, Hogwarts ranks very last in its teaching of the Dark Arts. It's an embarrassment to Hogwarts' reputation that they haven't managed to keep a teacher installed for over thirteen years. I reckon Professor Snape could teach it and supervise the next Potions professor if the headmaster let him." Theodore's blue eyes looked distant. "Da always says there'd be no one better to teach offensive and defensive magic than an ex-Death Eater."

Holding his breath to quell the sudden anger that had rushed into him, Harry was momentarily puzzled at himself, until he realized that he didn't like people bringing up Snape's past loyalties one bit. He hated being reminded that his guardian had once been a supporter of Voldemort.

"Biscuits or tea, Master Harry?" Nanua asked by the doorway.

"I would love some," Harry said forcing a smile on his face.

She nodded gracefully and snapped her fingers. A plate arrived on the table with chocolate drop biscuits. They looked soft and warm as if recently cooked and smelled delicious. A platter with a small teapot also appeared with two teacups, two spoons, and a saucer with an artful stack of sugar cubes.

"Thank you, Nanua."

"You're most welcome, Master Harry." She disappeared without another word.

Harry took a giant bite of a biscuit and poured himself some tea. "I expect keeping me company will be unexciting since there isn't much to do inside. We could play Exploding Snap or Wizard chess?"

When Theodore didn't respond, Harry shot him a curious look.

"That house-elf is free, isn't it?" Theodore asked oddly, nodding towards the door.

"What?" Harry dropped two lumps into his tea, stirred, and took a sip.

"It has clothes. If it weren't free, it'd be wearing something else." Theodore was still staring towards the doorway.

"It? Don't call Nanua an '_it_'. That's rude."

His year-mate shrugged a little. "If _Nanua _is free, why does that house-elf stick around? There's nothing here binding Nanua to service. That one could leave whenever it—she wants."

"Professor Snape said house-elves _delight in_ menial labor. I suppose you could ask her." Harry turned back to the doorway. "Nanua!"

She popped into the room. "Yes, Master Harry?"

"Theo wanted to ask why you stay when you're not…" Harry looked at his friend; he was suddenly very sure he was about to ask an impolite question.

"Oath-bound to serve, sir?" Nanua finished nicely.

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Does Master Harry have time to listen to a little story?"

"Of course I do, Nanua," Harry said warmly.

She lightly hopped onto the only other empty chair and sat, her thin legs kicking over the ledge of the chair. She tapped a finger against her lips as she thought. Her bulging eyes took on a vacant look and then she said, "Many, many years ago, I served a particularly dreadful family. As I was a house slave, I had nothing to wear but a ratty flour sack that itched day in and day out."

Theodore was attentive.

"One day, my Lady brought home a boy, a boy who was the child of the daughter she disinherited for marrying a non-wizard. He was very kind to Nanua, treated Nanua like an equal, and refused to let Nanua place her hands on hot coals as punishment for displeasing the Lady."

"You mean, Professor Snape, don't you?" Theodore said with a reverential voice.

"He was Master Severus then," Nanua's large eyes looked as if she was viewing something faraway. "Many events occurred that caused my Lady to be most displeased and very disappointed with him. But, before he'd been officially cast out of the household, he had tricked the Lady into handing Nanua a very, very precious item." Her wizened fingers went to the scarf around her neck.

"A scarf?" Harry said with some confusion. Was it a magic scarf or something?

"Yes, it was but a small thing, but it meant the world to me. I no longer had to stay at that loathsome household. I chose to assist the boy who had freed me for however long he lived."

"I don't understand. Why would a scarf do anything?"

"Giving clothing to a house-elf is like handing the key to a prisoner in a locked cage with access to the lock," Theodore answered.

"Oh."

"Is that all you need of me, Master Harry?"

"Yes. Thank you for telling us your story." Harry smiled.

"It was an honor and a privilege, Master Harry." She snapped her fingers, disappearing.

Nanua's story certainly explained why his guardian was living in a bad Muggle neighborhood. Lacking a chance to inherit from the Princes, Snape must have inherited the place after his Muggle father died.

"Wow," Theodore said, still looking at the chair where Nanua had sat. "Professor Snape is dead last on the list of people I expect to ever free a house-elf. I wager his grandmother went mental after he tricked her."

"Likely." Harry drank more tea and noticed that Theodore hadn't helped himself yet. "Are you going to have some tea and biscuits or not?"

Theodore peered at his cup of tea suspiciously and then took a long sip.

"You like your tea as is?" Harry said in surprise.

He nodded, "Now, let's play some Wizard chess. Da hired this annoying chess tutor because he was irritated to hear that I've never challenged you to a game, not even once." Theodore settled into the worn, squat leather chair next to the small table where Harry's chess board was located.

Taking one last bite of the biscuit in his hand, Harry took the mismatched chair across from him. "Reset," he told the pieces, many of whom had been sleeping in little tents or playing tiny instruments.

"Right away, m'lord," a knight said and then barked out orders to take positions. Several pawns grumbled unenthusiastically.

Theodore clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "I _insist_ you let me win so I can tell Da that I trounced you at chess on our first match."

Harry laughed. "Going to owe me one, Theodore?"

"If that's what it takes to win, _yes_! To be candid with you, I _jumped_ at the chance to visit. While my father was out having fun hunting Dark Objects, his ruddy tutor coached me eight hours every blasted day—chess strategies, play-by-play matches of masters, live matches—I just couldn't _take_ it anymore. I don't even _like_ chess that much, but my father, he says '_You shouldn't be afraid of losing!'_ He doesn't understand how bloody _brilliant_ you are. I've never even won against Draco, not even once." Theodore grinned at down at the chess pieces, jostling one another. "I'll take white then?"

Harry quirked his lips. "Yes."

Once the chess board had set itself, he then proceeded to nearly overwhelm Theodore anyway; at the very end, Harry deliberately left a gap in his defense that Theodore could take advantage of. Of course after so many hours of staring at a chess board, Theodore saw it and checkmated his king.

"Thanks, Harry."

Harry pulled out a pack of self-shuffling cards. "Would you like to learn some Muggle card games? Nothing as exciting as Exploding Snap, but it's something we can do until dinnertime."

"Sounds like it might keep my attention," Theodore said. "Deal first, explain the rules after." Thus, Harry spent the evening teaching his friend Rummy, Crazy Eights, Pontoon, Old Maid, Trumps, Strip Jack Naked, and Brag, the last of which Theodore seemed to enjoy the most.

Harry thought he probably shouldn't have mentioned that it was a favorite amongst gambling Muggles.


	3. Gilderoy Lockhart

**_Author's Notes: _**_Huzzah! Harry learns some things about Wizard culture he didn't want to know and shatters a few of his idealistic notions. __  
_

* * *

Theodore's visit lasted only four days; Harry watched from the window as Snape held his friend by the arm and turned in place, their bodies warping into a tiny point with a CRACK. That could be why Harry felt crushed by Apparation…

By the time Theodore left, Harry had plenty of correspondence to respond to as his housemates bombarded him with questions about the house-elf's intentions. Harry told them he didn't know _why _he'd been warned, but that he was going to be extra vigilant during the school year.

In the meantime, Harry never saw hide or hair of an investigator from the Ministry of Magic. It was Ms. Jenkins later that week who mentioned in a suspicious tone how peculiar it was that a house-elf would frame Harry in a freak occurrence. Harry _knew _she believed that it was all a cover up to keep his record pristine. Harry had swallowed his angry words, knowing that if he kept his mouth shut when she wasn't asking questions then she would leave without making snide comments to Professor Snape. Very soon, Harry would have his wand back and then he would be free to go outside and fly around on his broom as much as he liked.

A week later, when Harry felt the breeze blowing through the open window in his small second-floor bedroom, he could sense that the long, hot summer was slowly drawing to a close.

"There," he said happily. He took an ink blotter and patted it against the parchment. He rolled it up, placing it neatly with the other completed homework scrolls in his trunk.

There was a loud screech of an incoming owl and then a yellowed envelope with green writing on it fluttered through the window and slid across the floor, stopping at Harry's feet.

He bent over and picked it up. In a few moments, he had opened it and read his Hogwarts letter without interruption. It told him to catch the Hogwarts Express at eleven in the morning from King's Cross station on September First. There was also a ticket for the Hogwarts Express and a list of new books he'd need for the coming year. One name stuck out predominantly: Gilderoy Lockhart.

Letter clasped in hand, Harry took a long moment to stretch. He let out a yawn and rubbed his eyes, deciding that he should go downstairs to eat.

He quietly took the stairs—not _too_ quietly though—and entered the dining room. Breakfast was already set and his guardian was reading the newspaper as he often did this late in the morning.

After setting his letter next to his plate, Harry took a seat and began to eat the food that had automatically appeared on his plate.

Snape said nothing as he folded his paper and set it aside.

"Mornin'," Harry said tiredly, drinking his usual juice. He began to shovel food into his mouth. He'd stayed up late to finish his homework.

"I believe you've been waiting for_ this_." Snape held out a familiar wand: _Harry's_ wand.

Harry was immediately on his feet. "It came through?!"

Snape nodded and then sent him a severe look when he reached for it. "You may have it when you've finished your breakfast—and _don't_ eat like a goblin. Nanua taught you manners; use them."

With overstuffed cheeks, Harry sat back down, chewed what was in his mouth, and then wiped his grease-splattered face with an arm. He'd emptied his plate as soon as Snape had revealed his wand. Normally Harry ate at least two plates' worth, but he desperately wanted to be out of the house. "There, see, I'm done!" Harry stood next to his seated guardian, bouncing excitedly in place, and firmly kept his hands at his sides.

"What have you learned?" came the sharp question.

"Never to leave my wand at home because I may have to protect myself if someone tries to murder me," Harry said. A tick later, he solemnly added, "_Again_."

With a snort, Snape offered the stick of wood to Harry. "Do treat your wand with respect. If it breaks, the replacement never handles the same. Now, off with you."

Harry took it reverently and placed it in the specially-made holster Draco had given him for his birthday, which fit snugly around the trousers of his right thigh. He took off running—banging through the two hidden doors—grabbed his broom from the nearly overflowing coat closet in the snug foyer and slammed the back door open. Right outside on the slab of stone beneath the door, Harry mounted his broom and kicked off with a shout of joy.

There was nothing—_nothing —_like flying a broom! Harry thought as he tore across the grassy space hidden behind the thick hedges, staying low to the ground. He was a little rusty; soon however, he was taking hair-splitting turns at neck-breaking speeds. If Snape had seen him, Harry thought he might decide to take his broom away, but he didn't slow down one bit.

It was noon when Harry finally decided to take a break. He touched down on the grass, walking sorely to the house. He entered the cool interior and realized that not only was his clothing soaked in sweat, but his skin was bright red with the telltale sign of sunburn. Harry put his broom away and quickly went to the combined toilet and bathroom connected to his bedroom to clean himself up before lunch. His skin was raw under the spray of water from the shower. He gently patted himself dry, combed his impossible-to-tame hair, and dressed in fresh clothes.

As he ate baked chicken with oddly-shaped pickles with only Nanua as company—he supposed Snape was brewing a potion that couldn't be left unattended—an owl slammed into the window pane across from him, causing him to startle violently. Harry jumped out of his chair and opened the window, worried that the small owl had hurt itself, but it simply hopped onto the screen-less window frame with an envelope in one talon, shaking its feathers. Being friendly, it twittered at him as if he might know Owl-speak. Harry fed it some of his baked chicken, accepted its burden, and retook his seat, opening the letter with Hermione's handwriting on it.

"Your name is Errol?" Harry asked after he'd read part of the letter. The owl made a skittering squawk as if very pleased that he knew his name. According to Hermione, the little owl served Ron's family. Why she was using their owl was answered when he read that she'd spent a week of her summer vacation at the Burrow—the name of Ron's family home—doing homework. She also wrote an exhaustive list of curious magical items they had in their home, such as talking mirrors, automatic washing-up brushes for dishes, and a clock that didn't actually tell time. Harry had seen none of these things in Snape's house, but then Nanua wouldn't let him do dishes or cook either.

His Gryffindor friend was relieved that Harry hadn't been delayed in responding because of some serious situation—she and Hagrid were the only two he hadn't told about the house-elf's ominous warning knowing it would just worry them—and on the next line invited Harry to join her and Ron and his family in Diagon Alley the following Wednesday to go shopping for school supplies.

Harry looked up when he heard the floor creak and smiled when he saw Snape enter the room. "Can we go to Diagon Alley next Wednesday? I have some friends who want to meet me there."

"I do not have the time," came the overly curt reply, "Fortunately for you, Pansy Parkinson's parents have offered to take you in for the next eighteen days. You may ask them to arrange a meeting."

Harry blinked at the suddenness of Snape's announcement. Judging by the bitter look on his face, his guardian was in a rotten mood. "Did something happen, sir?"

His guardian set a small ceramic vessel on the table near Harry. "Apply this salve to your sunburns. You won't want to be feversick tomorrow when Parkinson's chaperone arrives." He turned away from Harry. "Nanua, I will have my meal downstairs."

"Yes, Master Snape." The house-elf popped out of the room. Before worry could set into Harry's head, Nanua reappeared shortly thereafter.

"Nanua… why is he sending me away? Have I done something wrong?"

The house-elf said reassuringly, "The weeks leading to September First are among the busiest for Master Snape. He had planned to tell you during Supper. However…"

"Something happened between breakfast and supper?" Harry suggested.

"Perhaps… But you needn't worry about it Master Harry. We must get your things packed and ready for your trip to the Parkinsons."

"And my daily potion?"

"Master Snape has brewed enough for your trip, and your money order from Gringotts should be arriving any moment now."

"But I have a chequebook…" Harry said in confusion.

"Had, Master Harry. I have confiscated it under Master Snape's orders since you frittered away a large sum with one cheque." She snapped her fingers and disappeared.

Harry nearly sighed, wondering if this were the true cause of being sent away.

When a golden-tanned Harry arrived by broom to the Parkinson estate the following morning, he was glad to see that their house was a modest three-story affair and not the marble palace that the Malfoys considered to be a 'quaint' manor.

Inside the waiting parlor, a servant took Harry's broom after a quick curtsy and Mr. Ludwig Coulten—the chaperone the Parkinsons had sent to collect Harry—enlarged Harry's trunk and empty owl cage and sent them with yet another servant, who tapped them with her wand so they would sprout spider-legs and skitter up the stairs on their own.

"This way, Master Potter," Mr. Coulten said brusquely, bowing as he slowly flourished a white-gloved hand towards a tall doorway.

Harry could hear girls happily chatting away and giggling with one another through the open doors.

When he walked inside, Bulstrode, Parkinson, Greengrass, and Davis were having tea and small sugar-crusted biscuits. There was a black cat beneath the table, grooming itself.

"Good afternoon, Potter. I'm so glad you could come," Parkinson said readily. "Come sit and have tea with us."

Harry sat between her and Bulstrode. The cat decided to weave itself around Harry's legs; he ignored it.

"We were worried that we wouldn't see you _before_ school started," Greengrass said, "What with that fraudulent Official Warning you received from the Ministry."

The girls exchanged a look and began to giggle.

"How did you hear about that?" Harry asked. "It wasn't in the _Daily Prophet_ was it?"

"My parents work at the Ministry. Word gets around, _especially_ when a Warning from the Office on the Improper Use of Magic is caught wrong-handed," Davis informed Harry.

"What did they expect? Everyone knows that the Monitoring Charms aren't the most accurate when _creatures_ cast spells around Underage wizards and witches," Greengrass said with an exasperated sigh.

"Be that as it may," Parkinson said primly, "We welcome you, Potter, to the Parkinson estate. I assure you that our kitchen is fully stocked to keep you well-fed and that you won't be bored by the events the we have planned for you."

They looked at one another again and giggled. Harry thought perhaps being the only boy in a group of girls might not have been the best idea, remembering what happened to one of Mrs. Figgs' cats when the neighborhood girls had finished with him. There were so many curlers and bows on the poor creature that Harry had felt a smidge of sympathy towards the bad-tempered cat.

"First," Parkinson continued, "Before anything else, I want you to meet Stela."

"You mean the cat?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking to the mewling creature staring at him from the floor.

"No, that's Rattan and he's a Kneazle," Bulstrode said.

Harry looked for another creature, expecting to see something else.

Parkinson lifted her cupped hands. In her palms was a tightly curled reddish-orange snake with black and green scales here and there. "_Stela_ is a Kettlesnake. Say 'Hello' Stela."

The snake raised its head and looked at Harry with a forked tongue licking out towards him. "_Hi_."

"Hullo," Harry said, "I'm Harry Potter."

The girls excluding Parkinson squealed.

"_I know_," Stela whispered, orange eyes half-lidded and intelligent.

"There," Harry said, "She already knows me."

Parkinson's smile was quite pleased. "See? I told you," she told the others. "Salazar Slytherin knew what he was doing when he raised and bred snakes, even though his peers scorned and ridiculed him for it!"

"Er," Harry said, exclusively out of the loop.

"One could argue that it is _we_ who are less intelligent as it is obvious that snakes understand _our_ language," Greengrass said.

"Then why didn't Stela cooperate when I placed the word cards in front of her?" Davis asked abruptly.

"Uh," Harry uttered, noticing that Bulstrode was writing on a scroll and not participating in the conversation as was her habit. She had allowed Rattan to jump into her lap and was petting the rumbly beast absently.

"It's _beneath_ her," Parkinson said dotingly, lightly brushing Stela's lustrous scales.

Harry glanced at the little snake, who looked quite comfortable tucked in Parkinson's hand with a tail wrapped around her wrist.

"_They're alwaysss like thiss_," Stela hissed softly in a satisfied tone.

He nearly sniggered. Harry cleared his throat instead. "Er, I need to go shopping for my school books. Could we possibly rearrange your schedule for a trip to Diagon Alley next Wednesday?"

"Of course, Potter, whatever you'd like to do," Parkinson simpered. "But in exchange you _must_ participate in our planned activities!"

Harry, of course, agreed only because he wanted to see Hermione.

Unfortunately, he was delegated to the role of a simple playmate. They didn't bully and tease him into doing something he didn't like; it was just that their interests hardly intersected. Unlike Harry, they had absolutely no interest in flying around on their brooms for an informal game of Quidditch. At first they stayed on the estate, having Harry edit out any errors on anything Muggle in Bulstrode's many scrolls-worth of writing. Harry had had to explain each time he found something _why_ it was wrong; oftentimes even the explanation confused them. Harry managed to spend a day working on their cheesy romance novel only because he stopped correcting every little thing, giving it up for a lost cause.

In the days leading up to the shopping trip to Diagon Alley, Harry and the girls visited the London Museum of Art—the Wizarding side of it, even though Harry really wanted to see _all_ of it since he'd never been before; the Underground—even though Harry had never been on it before, he became the unofficial guide among the Muggles who stared at their unusual attire; no less than several dozen high-class wizard shops—selling fancy hair accessories, perfumes, tailor-made robes, and cobbler-made shoes—and numerous tea rooms.

Hoping the girls wouldn't take it personally, Harry was very happy to slip away from them on Wednesday by ducking behind a crowd of people and walking into an alleyway to swiftly pull his magic cloak over his head. He had to wait for Parkinson and company to stop their search for him and wander into one of the various shops lining Diagon Alley before he could take the cloak off and head towards Flourish and Blott's. He hoped he hadn't missed Hermione yet.

It was then that he saw the back of Lucius Malfoy's head and then Draco's too. Watching how the crowd simply parted before them, Harry saw them turn off the main road down a dingy alleyway. An old wooden sign with peeling paint declared it as Knockturn Alley. Finding a shadowy corner, Harry put his Cloak of Invisibility back on and followed them.

Knockturn Alley was lined with dusty, run-down shops with peeling fronts devoted to the Dark Arts; Harry wondered why it was even connected to Diagon Alley when there was such a stigma against the Dark Arts. The witches and wizards milling around were much subdued in dark-colored, faded clothes; the Dark Arts obviously didn't provide a very adequate income. Harry's Bewitched watch went cold against his forearm as he passed some shadier characters. He didn't know what the shadow of a dog with sharp teeth represented when he looked.

"Why are we visiting Mr. Borgin anyhow?" Harry could hear Draco ask his father irritably.

"I've told you to be _quiet_," Lucius hissed back.

Harry's eyes flashed over the signs and found one that said Borgin and Burkes. They were heading straight for it. He followed a few steps behind them so that he could stop having to avoid running into someone.

Draco opened the heavy door to the largest shop along the street and his father walked in straight after him.

Harry slipped through the door before it closed. There were evil-looking masks staring down from the walls that sent shivers down Harry's spine and rusty, spiked instruments hanging from the ceiling. At least Harry knew there were no dangerous Dark creatures about when his watch felt warm against his skin.

As Harry hid behind a large black cabinet, one of the Malfoys rang a bell on the counter. "Touch nothing, Draco."

"I thought you were going to buy me a present."

With the gauzy cloak over his head, Harry peeked around the cabinet and saw the scowl on Draco's face.

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," Draco's father said, drumming his fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team?" Draco said petulantly. "You gave Harry Potter a Nimbus Two Thousand last year all because he got special permission from Dumbledore to play Quidditch for Slytherin. He's not even that _good;_ it's just because he's _famous_…" Harry could hear the clear envy raging in Draco's voice. "Famous for having a stupid _scar_ on his forehead…" Draco was inspecting a shelf full of skulls. "Everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful _Potter_ with his _scar_ who's the youngest Seeker in a _century_—"

"You have told me this at least ten times already," Mr. Malfoy said with a look that quashed Draco's whinging. "And I would remind you _again_ that it is not _prudent_ to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as a hero who made the Dark Lord disappear—ah, Mr. Borgin."

Harry lightly touched his scar, feeling bewildered and a little sad that _this_ was what Draco really thought of him. Where was this true friendship Snape had spoke of? Draco had risked Snape's wrath last year because his father must be the scarier of the two. Draco hadn't offered his friendship to Harry out of goodwill; everything he'd given to Harry amounted to a bribe to be in his good favor.

Harry decided that Draco would no longer have his trust, as much as the thought depressed him. They'd been best mates when Harry had visited his estate. Now, Harry wondered whether all of their friendly interactions had been completely manufactured.

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," Mr. Malfoy said, cutting through the other man's sales pitch.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," Mr. Malfoy continued, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few—ah—items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call."

Harry glanced at Draco as the other boy wandered the store looking at various items inside a glass case. There was a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble _you_, sir, surely?" Mr. Borgin said hesitantly.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act—no doubt that Chiz-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it and as you see, certain poisons may make it appear—"

"I understand, sir, of course," Mr. Borgin interrupted, "Let me see…"

"Can I have that?" Draco said, pointing at the shrunken hand inside the case.

Harry recognized it as the Hand of Glory from the book Theodore had given him and was gratified to hear Mr. Borgin declare it as such and describe its properties and how to use it. "Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir," the man said with an oily voice.

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," Mr. Malfoy said coldly.

Harry grinned as Mr. Borgin backpedaled a bit. "No offense, sir, no offense meant—"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," Mr. Malfoy said, his voice even icier, "that may indeed be all he is fit for—"

"It's not my fault," Draco retorted.

Harry frowned. Draco had been the best among the Slytherin first years; what more could he do?

Draco continued, "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger—"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in _every_ exam," Mr. Malfoy snapped.

Draco looked both abashed and angry.

_Ah_, Harry thought. Not only was Draco's father pressuring him to be friends with Harry, but also reinforcing prejudices against Muggle-borns. No wonder Draco hated Hermione if he was held up to her as a standard. She was a bonafide train-spotter, someone who studied until her head was full of nothing else. For the first time, Harry wondered why she wasn't in Ravenclaw.

"It's the same all over," Mr. Borgin said in that oily voice Harry hated, "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—"

"Not with me," Mr. Malfoy said, nostrils flaring.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," Mr. Borgin said backing up again with a deep bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," Draco's father said, short with the man. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin—"

As the two adults began to haggle over the price of poisons and whatever-else, Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to him, examining the Dark Objects for sale. Under the cloak, Harry was backed into a corner and couldn't move any farther. He only hoped there was nothing behind him that interested Draco.

Beside Harry, Draco paused to inspect a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, a card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals that warned customers not to touch for the cursed object had already claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners to date.

Draco turned towards Harry—who held his breath instinctively—looking right through him, and began to stretch his hand out—

"Come, Draco—" His father called from the counter.

When his year-mate pulled away, Harry softly breathed out and then in. Nervous sweat dripped down his nose under his glasses, causing them to slide to the tip.

"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."

The moment the Malfoys had left the shop with a loud clang of a bell, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner. "Good day yourself, _Mister_ Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your _manor_…"

Muttering darkly to himself, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry waited for a minute in case he came back and then quietly shuffled over to the door. When he opened it, the bell clanged as expected and he ran back towards Diagon Alley, only once knocking someone over in his hurry. The wizard slurred something out and waved his wand around angrily, but Harry had already put a lot distance between them. His watch only briefly went cold on his way out. Finding a little niche, he took off his magic cloak and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his robes. That had been far too close.

"Harry!" Hagrid's voice boomed.

"Hagrid!" Harry grinned, hugging the big lug of a man, and then blinked when he saw that the gamekeeper had just exited Knockturn Alley. "What were you doing down _there_?"

"Oh, I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent. They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own, are yeh? Where's Professor Snape?"

"I'm staying with the Parkinsons, but we got separated," Harry explained. "I'll find them."

"I got yer letter," Hagrid said while Harry had to jog to keep up with Hagrid's long strides. "Took long enough fer yeh to respond."

Harry told him about Dobby.

"What rotten luck, Harry. Hope it doesn't stick to yeh over the school term."

"Harry! Harry, over here!" Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger hopping down the white steps in front of Gringotts. She was covered in soot, her bushy brown hair flying behind her. "You're so tan!"

"What happened to you, Hermione?"

"What? Nothing," Hermione said inspecting herself. "Why?"

"You're covered head to foot in soot!" Harry gestured towards her.

"Oh! I took the Floo Network to get here! It was _brilliant_." Before she explained what that was, Hermione beamed up at the half-giant. "Hello, Hagrid. Oh, it's _wonderful_ to see you two again—Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"

"I should cash my money order—"

"Ah! The Weasleys caught up!" Hermione said happily.

Harry hardly wanted to see them, particularly three Weasley sons. He smiled and turned anyway.

"Oh, good lord, it's Harry Potter!" A thin, slightly balding redhead man with patches of soot on him and dirty glasses panted out, clutching his chest. He was wearing dusty green robes and a green hat. He offered his soot-spotted hand. "Arthur Weasley. Very pleased to meet you; Miss Granger's told us so much about you!"

Harry shook Mr. Weasley's hand, knowing how likely it was for Harry to like him in direct correlation to Mr. Malfoy's hatred.

"You were raised by Muggles, isn't that right? So that means you could answer a couple questions I have."

"Er," Harry said, thinking that wasn't too unusual if Mr. Weasley was responsible for the Muggle Protection Act, which enacted further measures to the benefit of Muggles. "Sure…"

"What is the purpose of a rubber duck? How does post work without owls? Why are there round, metal prongs coming off these _dee-vices_ Muggles use? Miss Granger has tried to explain, but I find myself perplexed by her clarifications…"

"Oh, is this your family, Mr. Weasley?" Harry said desperately trying to change the subject, reminded of Bulstrode and the other Slytherin girls. If _Hermione_ couldn't explain it clearly, then what hope did Harry have in the same?

Behind him was Ron, Fred, George, Percy, a short, plump, kind-faced woman, and a young girl; they were all redheads and all equally sooty. The Weasley girl squeaked when Harry noticed her and hid behind who Harry suspected was Mrs. Weasley with a very large handbag in hand.

"Molly, it's Harry Potter!" Molly? Harry thought, blinking at the woman who was related to him through his paternal grandfather's sister.

"Oh! Hello, dear. Very nice to meet you," the woman beamed up at him. She seemed pleasant enough. "These are my boys, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy."

"We've already met him, mum!" Fred piped up.

"He's great fun!" George added.

"It's always important to have an introduction," Mrs. Weasley told them sternly and then smiled nicely at Harry again, "My two oldest are working: Charlie's in Romania and Bill works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts." Mrs. Weasley took a step to the side, trying to reveal her only daughter, but the girl moved with her. "And this is my youngest, Ginny. Say hello, dear."

The young girl peeked from behind her mother, eeped, and hid behind Mrs. Weasley again.

"Well! Gotta be off," Hagrid said. "Would yeh help Harry find the Parkinsons? He got separated." At the Weasleys—and Hermione's—nods the half-giant grinned, "Thanks. See yeh at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

"You're staying with that oaf _Pansy Parkinson_?" Ron the Somewhat-Jerk, said half-disgusted.

"_Ronald_ _Weasley_, you be nice!" Mrs. Weasley fussed, before Harry could say a word in Parkinson's defense.

Fred and George both laughed and tutted at their younger brother, waving their index finger at Ron, whose ears were bright red.

"Are you going into Gringotts, dear?" Ron's mum was just the sort of adult who fussed over children not her own because she loved them so.

"Oh, yes ma'am. I have a money order I need to exchange—"

"Harry, come meet my parents!" Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, interrupting anything else he might have said, and dragged him up the remaining steps. "Mom, Dad. This is Harry Potter."

"Hullo, how do you do?" Harry smiled.

"Very well thank you Harry," Hermione's dad answered, looking around as if he'd misplaced something.

"Did Hermione warn you about the goblins in the bank? Showed you pictures and such?"

"Of course I did!" Hermione sounded offended. Harry gave her an apologetic grin.

"Yes, yes of course," Mrs. Granger said faintly. "We entered this place through the other side of their bank."

"They have a lot of teeth," Mr. Granger commented, baring his teeth slightly as he said it. Hermione's parents kept squinting around, their eyes continuously falling away from the shops around them. Harry wondered if there might be magic affecting them.

"Ah! Hermione's parents? You must be Muggles then!" While Mr. Weasley used a courteous tone with the Grangers, he spoke a little louder than he needed to. Harry dragged an embarrassed hand over his face.

The Grangers gave Mr. Weasley a calm look.

"Yes, we are, Mister…?" Mr. Granger said.

"Dad, that's Ron's dad. I told you about him," Hermione offered timidly.

"_Oh_! Well, a pleasure to meet you Mr. Weasley. Thank you for opening your home to our daughter."

The two adults shook hands. Mr. Weasley took his cap off with a "Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Granger." and bowed slightly to Mrs. Granger, who murmured, "Likewise, Mr. Weasley." After Mrs. Weasley had introduced herself and her children like she'd done with Harry, Hermione led her parents towards the bank; Mr. Weasley looked over his shoulder at his wife, "Molly, real_ Muggles!_" He was positively delighted. "We must ask them out for a drink! Especially considering that they might be family one day." Mr. Weasley's eyes fluttered to his son Ron who was too busy loudly arguing with his twin brothers to notice.

Harry was more than a bit mortified by Mr. Weasley's suggestion that his youngest son might pair off with Hermione and quickly went up the steps. The instant a goblin was within ten feet of him Harry's watch went cold as ice. He hadn't figured that goblins were Dark Creatures…

The nervous Grangers were standing by a tall counter. Harry looked at his Bewitched watch and saw a shadow of something with many teeth, a bald head, and pointed ears.

"You're wearing two watches?" Hermione asked over Harry's shoulder. She was still much taller than him.

"I received another for my birthday." Harry smiled, letting the second watch get covered by his robe-sleeve.

As the Weasley family strolled by following a goblin, Ron's dad pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger's hand, "What's that? Oh, they're changing Muggle money. Molly, look, look!"

Deciding to inspect the marble fronting of the counter, Harry thought he might not like Mr. Weasley as much as he thought. The man was carrying on far too much.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys were led to the underground vaults; Mr. Weasley's voice could be heard gushing with excitement over his meeting _real _Muggles.

Harry stepped closer to the Grangers. "I'm terribly sorry about that. Some magical folk have never met a non-magical person in their life due to the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute on Secrecy."

While Mr. Granger spoke to the stern-faced goblin, Mrs. Granger beamed down at him. "You are a sweet boy, Harry. Hermione's already explained all of that, but we appreciate it."

"Harry, don't you need to cash your money order?" Hermione said just as her father took a money bag from the Gringotts goblin working with him.

"Mr. Potter?" The goblin muttered in what seemed to be a cranky manner, "I can help you here."

Ignoring the icy Bewitched Item on his forearm, Harry carefully pulled out the folded square of parchment and placed it in the long-fingered hand.

In a few moments, he was given a heavy bag of money as well. He thanked the goblin and then tied the bag to his belt under his robes. "I have to buy some things. I'll meet you at Flourish and Blotts, alright?"

Hermione nodded. "I'll see you there."

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Harry said to her parents.

"It was a pleasure, Harry," Mr. Granger said. "And if you ever need your teeth cleaned or fixed, just let me know."

"Of course, sir," Harry said with a grin, while Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. Knowing Hermione, she already knew the charms for that.

Back outside, Harry hurried down the marble steps in front of Gringotts to get to Madame Malkin's to order new school robes and new trainers, since he'd outgrown his old ones. The fitting was as quick as last year and Harry was soon prowling the shop fronts with boxes of new robes and shoes that only slightly resembled his old Muggle trainers in hand.

Pennyworth's Parchment and Quills had a shop window filled with all the accessories needed for writing—'all stay-fast, non-stain colors of ink, multiple styles of quills, different thicknesses and lengths of parchment, every shape of ink blotters imaginable in stock!' a sign blinked. Harry went inside as he needed more of everything because of all the writing he'd done over the summer and the previous school year; he even picked up an Organizes-Itself Folder for Theodore for Christmas as his desk was always hopelessly messy and a Never-Spill inkwell for Hermione. Then he headed to Eeylops Owl Emporium to buy more food pellets for Hedwig and a large dog biscuit for Fang, Hagrid's boarhound. Then Harry went to Cookers Cauldrons to get a couple more standard-size pewter cauldrons, since the bottom of his were dangerously thin after a year's worth of Potions classes and independent study lessons.

Then he visited other stores looking for Christmas gifts his year-mates would find useful. He picked up a fancy color-shifting hat for Parkinson, a Slytherin-style brooch for Greengrass, and of course a thick pair of woolen socks for Professor Dumbledore. He thought he might Owl-Order gifts from Honeydukes for Goyle and Crabbe knowing their insatiable sweet tooth. Nothing he saw would interest Bulstrode, Davis, Sally-Anne, or Draco. Even knowing how Draco felt about him didn't change Harry's mind about giving him a Christmas gift…

Harry thought a book on writing might interest Bulstrode and a book about something quintessentially Muggle would delight Davis… But, Sally-Anne and Draco would be difficult to buy for. Sally-Anne didn't seem particularly interested in books, clothes, or accessories, and Draco had enough money to buy whatever he wanted.

Arms full, a thoughtful Harry walked to Flourish and Blotts. Last year had been very busy this close to Hogwarts starting. However, this year was even worse. A large crowd was jostling outside the doors trying to get in, most of whom were witches who looked to be about Mrs. Weasley's age. Harry read the large banner proclaiming a book signing by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, the author whose name was on most of the books Harry needed for his second year at Hogwarts.

"We'll be able to meet him before school starts!" Davis' voice rose up in the crowd.

"He's a _genius_!" Parkinson sighed out.

"Oh, like he'll fall for you, Tracey. Pansy, what's the matter with you? I already told you he's a fraud," Greengrass snapped.

"You're jealous that he's _brilliant_ at slaying Dark Creatures," Parkinson teased.

"ooOoo" Both Bulstrode and Davis hummed.

"If only!" Greengrass haughtily retorted.

A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, "Calmly, please, ladies. Don't push. Mind the books…"

"Potter!" Parkinson had just seen him and put her hands on her hips imperiously. "Where _have_ you been?" She demanded, taking note of the boxes in his arms.

"Christmas shopping."

She sniffed. "Flippy! Come here at once!"

A house-elf poofed into existence, wearing a clean green and mustard-yellow afghan. "Yes, my lady?"

"Please take Potter's things back to the estate."

"Yes, my lady," the gravelly-voiced house-elf said, bowing with a flourished arm.

Harry restacked the boxes and crouched to put them carefully in the small house-elf's arms. "Can you hold all of that, Flippy?"

"Y-yes, sir, Harry Potter, sir," The elf said sounding flustered behind the large pile of boxes. "It isn't much for old Flippy. Sir."

"Thank you, Flippy. If you could take my things out of the boxes and pack them into the trunk too? I would really appreciate it."

"Yes, Harry Potter. Right away, sir," he squeaked, disappearing.

Harry turned to his year-mate. "Thanks Parkinson. I wouldn't have wanted to get through all _that—" _He nodded towards the crowd. "—with those boxes."

Her eyes were narrowed and so were the others'.

"What?" Harry asked, unsure why he was getting their animosity.

"Nothing," she waved her hand dismissively and stepped up to the man. "Excuse me, I and my four friends are from Hogwarts and need to purchase our books…" Parkinson tapped her foot impatiently. "Or do we need to take our business elsewhere?"

The irritated man stepped aside and let them slide past. A very long line snaked its way from where they stood all the way to the back of the store, where Gilderoy Lockhart was likely signing his books.

Harry grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 2_. The girls did the same. They snuck up to the front of the line and finally saw the man.

Gilderoy Lockhart was seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy blond hair.

"_Oh_, he's _gorgeous_," Parkinson sighed out, sounding besotted.

Harry tried not to gag. He mistrusted adults as a general rule, but in his experience exceptionally nice-looking ones were generally rotten to the core.

"Harry, there you are!" Molly Weasley said patting her hair and looking towards Mr. Lockhart expectantly.

"Mrs. Weasley? Where's everyone else?" They must have finished at Gringotts while Harry was looking for gifts.

"I told them they didn't need to wait in line with me."

"Move!" Suddenly a short man elbowed his way past Harry.

"Ow! _Excuse_ you," Harry said in a miffed tone.

"I'm with _The Daily Prophet,"_ The man said snootily and began to move around Mr. Lockhart, taking pictures of his shiny white teeth.

The women and girls around Harry seemed to sigh more the more that Mr. Lockhart smiled.

"Big, bleeding deal," Harry muttered, rubbing his side.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up and saw Harry. He stared at Harry's forehead far longer than he needed to and then leapt to his feet, shouting, "It _can't_ _be._ _It is_! It's Harry Potter!"

Oh, _Merlin_. Harry thought, wishing he could make himself very small.

"Go on Harry!" Davis whispered excitedly next to him.

"Yes! Go, go!" Parkinson egged him on, as the crowd around him parted and stared. Greengrass muttered under her breath about their foolishness, but didn't look as if she might help Harry flee.

Lockhart dove for Harry, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him to the front. The crowd burst into applause, while Harry's face burned. Lockhart grabbed Harry's hand and shook it more vigorously than he needed to.

"Look this way Harry Potter!" The photographer was clicking madly, wafting thick purple smoke everywhere.

"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."

When he finally let go of Harry's hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He was about to regain some of his anonymity by sliding back into the crowd, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped Harry tightly to his side. He wanted to punch the man right on the nose, but he remembered that he had an audience and shoved his temper down, smiling stiffly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart said loudly, waving for quiet with his other hand. Harry imagined elbowing the bastard and making a run for it. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!"

Harry sucked in part of his lower cheek and chewed, hoping it would all be over soon.

"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—" _Oh_… Harry thought furiously, _this arrogant_— "Which! I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge—" The crowd applauded again. "He had _no_ _idea_," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip down his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_." Lockhart paused for dramatic effect.

_Oh, spare me_, Harry inwardly groused as he quickly fixed his glasses.

"He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting… the _real_ magical me."

**_No_**, Harry looked up at Lockhart in alarm, who grinned down in conceited pleasure.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Harry felt ill while the crowd cheered and clapped. And then Harry found himself presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Finally free of the man's tight grip, Harry staggered slightly under their weight and managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room. He leaned heavily against the bookcase, which he deliberately placed his forehead on. Was this how celebrities normally acted? He felt a little more understanding for Snape's bullying on the first day of Potions last year. Harry had never wanted so much to wring an adult's neck.

"Do you get anxious in front of crowds too?" A quiet voice asked.

Harry stepped away from the bookcase, turning. It was the shy Ginny Weasley. "Um. No. Er… You can have these." He tipped some of the books into her brand-new cauldron and shoved the rest into her arms. "I'll buy my own—"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, _Harry_?" said a voice Harry had absolutely no trouble recognizing. He straightened his shoulders and met Draco face-to-face. Harry was surprised to see that Draco wasn't wearing a sneer.

"_Famous_ Harry Potter," Draco announced loudly with the tone of a good-natured rib, "Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."

"Is that _really_ something to be proud of?" Harry countered icily.

Draco blinked at him. "What's got into you?"

"Nothing," Harry lied.

The other boy frowned.

"Oh, it's _you_. I wondered who was making a fuss," Ron said, looking at Draco like he was something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised Potter's hanging with my family."

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop that isn't second-hand, Weasley," Draco shot back. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for your school expenses."

Ron went as red as his sister, Ginny. He dropped his books on the ground and started for Draco.

Harry moved to intercede, stepping in front of Draco, but facing Ron.

"No, Ron!" Hermione yelled and grabbed the back of Ron's robes.

"Let me at him!" Ron raged. "Out of my way, _Potter! _I'll bloody his nose!"

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley cried out, struggling over Fred and George. "What are you doing? Let's go outside."

"Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley."

_Oh great_, Harry thought as he stepped to the side and turned. It was just what the situation needed to escalate out of control. Mr. Malfoy looked at Harry with a pleasant smile and then stepped forward placing a hand on Draco's shoulder. He sneered the same way as his son had at Ron, except it was directed at Mr. Weasley.

"Lucius." Mr. Weasley nodded coldly in greeting.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy mocked with a casual tone. "All those raids… I hope they're paying you overtime?"

Mr. Weasley glared.

With black-gloved hands, Mr. Malfoy reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted a very old and battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ from beneath the glossy new Lockhart books_._

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said dryly. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny. "We have a very _different_ idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," Mr. Malfoy said stiffly, returning the battered books back to Ginny's cauldron, as his eyes strayed towards the Grangers, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower—"

Everything seemed to slow down around Harry as Ginny's cauldron went flying. Harry ducked and it sailed over his head. He looked up to see Mr. Weasley throw himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf.

Harry glanced over at Draco who smirked with pleasure at the scene unfolding. Heavy spellbooks were raining down everywhere. Holding up an arm to protect his head, Harry looked over at the Weasleys; both Ron and Ginny looked terrified, while the twins were cheering.

"No, Arthur, no!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked from somewhere behind Harry.

The crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over. The man from the door was panicking, screaming for them to stop.

"Break it up, gentlemen!" Hagrid had reappeared out of nowhere. He waded through the crowd and pulled the two of them apart like they were children. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye—by a falling Encyclopedia, Harry had seen.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes glittered with malice. "If this is the best example your father can give you, I pity you Weasleys." He pulled himself out of Hagrid's grip, beckoned for Draco to follow, and swept from the shop.

Draco looked at Harry and the Weasleys and then back to his father.

"I'll see you at Hogwarts, Draco," Harry said calmly.

"Draco!" His father called.

After a brief smile at Harry, his year-mate turned and left.

Harry breathed out as he heard Hagrid tell Mr. Weasley he should've just shaken the insults off, that the Malfoys were bad blood and rotten to the core. It was such a simplistic view to take… an easier view. Harry had seen other sides to Draco that hadn't been smothered by his father… but to hate him because of his father's nastiness and rumored connection to Voldemort…?

Soon the Weasleys had left, Hagrid and the frightened Grangers with them.

Well, that wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Nobody hexed anyone. Scanning the shelves for books on grammar for Bulstrode, Harry found many others that were interesting to him.

"You all right, Potter?" Greengrass asked behind him. "I heard what Draco said."

"Yeah." A sudden thought occurred to him and Harry looked at her shrewdly. "Did you know Draco's father made him get friendly with me?"

Greengrass froze and then forced herself to relax. "I didn't know you knew."

Harry tried not to let his heart break. "It's the same with _all_ of you, is it?"

"Potter… listen…"

He brushed off her hand and stormed out of the crowded bookshop. He'd had enough.

"Potter, that's how things are _done!_" She yelled fearfully.

Harry stalked down the street. He had opened himself up to vulnerability and in the process had been humiliated. He wanted to go home to Spinner's End. He wanted to be alone in his room with the birds chirping outside his windows.

"Wait—Potter! I said, _wait_!" Greengrass ran in front of him. "Hear me out. Please."

Any warmth he'd felt for his year-mate was gone. He wondered if every interaction with his fellow Slytherins were built upon lies, but gave her the courtesy to listen to what she had to say.

"Since we were young our parents decided who we would associate with or befriend. There's nothing any of us can do about it either. And when we're old enough, they'll decide who we'll _marry_." She took a deep breath and repeated, "That's how things are _done_ in the old pureblood families."

He looked away, hating her, hating his whole house.

Professor Snape had said it best after all, _A friend is ultimately someone you can use._

Harry shuddered inwardly. He wanted friends for friendship's sake. Why had he been placed in the house of snakes?

"Daphne! Potter!" Davis' voice rang out. "Milly and I bought the rest of your books and sent them back with Flippy… What happened to the Lockhart books, Potter?"

"I gave them away," Harry bit out. "I don't want his ruddy books. I don't want him to be a ruddy teacher at Hogwarts."

He could see Bulstrode, Parkinson, and Davis exchange pointed looks with Greengrass. Before any of them could ask what had upset him, Harry said, "When you're ready to go, let me know." He glared at the cobblestone beneath his feet, refusing to look at them. He wondered if their parents were hoping to marry one of them off to him some day, too. Merlin, he was only _twelve. _Marriage was the absolute last thing on his mind.

"We're ready now, Potter," Greengrass said quietly.

When they returned to the Parkinson estate, Harry went to the guest bedroom that had been relegated to him and spent his time staring out the window. He left it to dine with them and refused to carry a conversation that required anything more than a 'Yes' or 'No'.

A week later, only Harry remained as a guest.

Parkinson knocked on his door and opened it.

He looked up from his new spell book with a scowl.

"Potter, you're being awfully petty."

"Petty? You're only my friend because I'm _Harry Potter_, The Boy-Who-Lived-When-He-Really-Ought-To-Have-Died," he said softly.

Parkinson tsked, stroking her kettlesnake. "I still think you're petty for holding our parents' decisions against us. Not everyone is a famous, rich orphan who can afford to be defiant."

Harry said nothing, not understanding her point.

"Coulten will escort you back to your place of residence tomorrow morning. I will see you once school starts again. Hopefully by then, you've let go of your pointless grudge against us."

With that Parkinson left, Stela with her.


	4. A Gryffindor's Temerity

_**Author's Notes: **Poor Harry's dealing with culture shock, what with parents acting as matchmakers and deciding which people their children socialize with. The thought of being seen as marriage material bothered him, but not as much as having sham friendships. Snape did warn him; not that Harry wants to listen..._

* * *

The end of summer holiday didn't come quickly enough for Harry's liking. For the three days before Harry had to get on the Hogwarts Express, Snape hadn't been around. As much as Harry had wanted to get away from his Slytherin year-mates, he hated feeling utterly alone, even with regular correspondence from Hermione. He didn't want to respond to anyone else. He wasn't even sure if Sally-Anne had been forced to befriend him as the others had. Of course, no one would want to be friends with smelly, short Harry if given the choice—besides Hermione, who bucked the social conventions of her own house to be Harry's friend.

Harry had never met another person quite like her: intelligent without being small-minded and overly self-absorbed. Harry wasn't sure why others didn't like her. Being naturally helpful, she only wanted to share what she knew with others. Who cared if she got a little overexcited over things Harry wasn't so interested in? He had never once viewed their friendship with suspicion, and at the moment that was the security he needed.

On the last evening of August, Nanua conjured up an extravagant dinner that included all of Harry's favorite things, ending it with mouthwatering treacle pudding. She had transfigured the table into a longer length to hold the feast she had prepared. Despite not being very hungry, Harry stuffed himself, since he didn't want the food to go to waste. He still wasn't in the best of moods, but he appreciated her attempt to cheer him. Afterwards, he packed his things and went to bed.

The next morning was a quiet affair. They had a late brunch with the pickled roots that Harry had gotten rather fond of. Nanua surprised him by giving him a jar of them. "Master Severus prepared these for you and has asked me to tell you not to eat more than three a day or you'll grow purple hair from your ears."

Harry chuckled at that, putting it into his trunk. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Nanua." He dragged the trunk and his owl cage out the back door. Hedwig flapped down immediately, perching on his trunk. "I thought you might like flying ahead to Hogwarts. It can't be comfortable traveling with me in this cramped cage," he told her.

Hedwig looked at him with her amber owl eyes, ruffled her feathers, and then bobbed her head. She however didn't fly away, hooting softly.

"Go on. I'll be fine." He gestured for her to go.

With a parting squawk, she took off, leaving a single snowy white feather behind.

Harry picked up the feather, inspecting it.

"Master Harry, are you ready to go?"

"Yes, Nanua." He turned and was surprised to see Nanua wearing a very large bonnet over her floppy ears and tennis-ball sized eyes and a small plum-colored cloak over her clothes.

"Get a firm grip on your trunk and cage. There you are, Master Harry." Nanua offered her hand and Harry grasped it. Then, Nanua snapped her fingers, and Harry felt the spinning sensation and then sharp squeeze of Apparation.

This time however it was less abrupt and he found he could still stand, even though he had to lean heavily against the trunk to do so. She patted the back of his clothes. "There, there, Master Harry," her voice quivered.

When Muggles passed by curiously, she turned to them with an aside, "It's his health. Traveling makes him sick."

None of them seemed to notice that she was a house-elf as they took her explanation and hurried on.

Harry thought this was curious and looked around. They were inside the open-air train station by the looks of the vendors and crowds of people, only a block away from Platform nine-and-three-quarters. "Why don't they notice anything?"

"Ah, that is because they only _see_ what they want to see. You will find this is the case with most humans, magical or non-magical," she said with a very wide smile. "Now, go on. Hogwarts Express leaves in less than ten minutes. It's only enough time for you to board and get settled in. I put those Honeydukes toffees in the left front pocket of your robes in case you needed a snack. "

Automatically checking his pocket, Harry felt them. "Thanks, Nanua… for _everything_."

"My pleasure, Master Harry. Now, _shoo_!"

Harry went to drag his trunk across the ground and found that Nanua had already placed his possessions on a trolley for him. He shoved it quickly in front of him, dodging people and apologizing as he zigzagged around the full terminal. Behind him, he heard the CRACK of Apparation.

The tricky part to catching the train to Hogwarts was getting onto Platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn't visible to the Muggle eye. What someone had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed the vanishing person and luggage.

He swung down the aisles of trains, ticket clutched in hand. The clock that he'd passed read five 'til eleven. A group of Weasleys had just disappeared through the barrier. Harry jogged to reach them.

"Oh, hello, Harry. Running late too? Come along, Ginny." Her daughter's hand clasped with hers, Mrs. Weasley rushed the barrier. Ginny waved shyly at Harry. In a blink, they were gone.

Harry sidled up next to Ron, facing the solid brick wall that was the barrier.

"There's only a minute left. No use making you wait," Ron groused to Harry.

Harry was perfectly confident in his ability to go in. Both of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run and—

CRASH.

Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron's trunk fell off with a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig's empty cage bounced noisily onto the shiny floor. People all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you think you're doing?"

"Lost control of the trolley," Harry gasped, clutching his ribs as he got up without any help from Ron. Harry picked up the cage and shoved it on top of his trunk, while Ron put his trunk back onto his trolley.

"Why can't we get through?" Ron hissed at him.

"I dunno—"

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them. "We're going to miss the train!" He hissed again. "You didn't hex the gateway or anything, did you?"

"No, _why_ would I do that when I need to go through?" Harry whispered back with a glare.

"Well, I don't know why _else_ it's sealed itself—"

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ten seconds… nine seconds…

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The brick wall remained solid against his metal trolley.

Three seconds… two seconds… one second…

"It's gone," Ron said, sounding stunned. "The train's left. I wonder if anyone can get back through it?" The Gryffindor pressed his ear against the cold barrier.

"Hear anything?" Harry asked curiously.

"Not a thing," Ron said tensely. "What am I going to do? I don't know how long it'll take for Mum and Dad to get me."

Harry looked around. People were still watching them, but much fewer. It was the guard that Harry thought would cause the most trouble if they lingered too long.

"I think we'd better go," Harry said. "We're attracting too much atten—"

"The car!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes gleaming.

"What?" Harry blinked. He was sure he remembered that the Weasleys were a pureblood family. "Your family owns a car?"

"Yeah! We can _fly_ to Hogwarts!"

Harry's next blink was very slow. "Your family owns a _flying_ car? I dunno… isn't that _illegal_? What if Mu—someone sees us?"

"It has an Invisibility Booster in it! No one will see a thing!" Ron gestured for Harry to follow. "We're stuck, right? And we've got to get to school, haven't we? And even Underage wizards are allowed to use magic if it's a real emergency, section nineteen or something of the Restriction Thingy—"

"Section 19 of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery?" Harry supplied, walking next to him. "I don't think this case applies. And at any rate, how will your parents get home if we take their vehicle?"

"They don't need a car! They can Apparate! They've probably already left from the platform," Ron said impatiently, gaining speed as he walked. "They only bother with the car because we're all Underage and they can't Apparate _all_ of us…"

"Why don't we wait for them to come back and then have them Apparate us to Hogwarts?"

Ron frowned at him. "Are you mad? My parents can't Apparate us all the way there. That's got to be at least five hundred miles away."

Frowning, Harry supposed he shouldn't mention that Snape had done the very thing when they'd gone to Hogsmeade. At the same time, he didn't think taking the car was a very good plan. If he had Hedwig, he would have sent a note on to Snape telling him they were stranded… He looked grumpily at the empty cage. No good deed ever went unpunished as Harry had learned from several Magical Fairy Tales. He'd let his owl fly straight to Hogwarts believing she'd appreciate not being cooped up for the duration of the trip.

"C'mon! If we hurry, we'll be able to follow the Hogwarts Express."

Not having any better ideas, Harry quickly walked after the Gryffindor as he marched off through a crowd of Muggles and out of the station. Soon they were on a cobblestone side road where an old sky blue Ford Anglia was parked.

Ron unlocked the cavernous boot with a series of taps from his wand. He heaved his trunk into the back of the car and then looked at Harry. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

Harry's instinct told him that this was a bad plan even though rationally it appeared rather solid. And, he had to admit to himself, a _flying_ _car_ was an awfully intriguing notion. He nodded and lifted his trunk, also placing it into the boot next to Ron's trunk.

Harry moved the trolleys to the side of the building, not caring about the two-pound deposit he could have made returning them to their hub. He carried Hedwig's empty cage and put it in the backseat.

They both got in; Harry in the front passenger seat. "Do you know how to drive this?"

"No problem," Ron said confidently. "Check that no one's watching." He tapped his wand against the ignition and the car started. Harry blinked while he manually cranked the window down. He craned his head out the window looking for a red letter that would be delivered shortly, but none came.

"Well?" Ron asked impatiently.

Startled, Harry looked down both ways. Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty of cars, bicyclists, and pedestrians as far as Harry could see.

"Okay," Harry said. So were there forms of magic the Monitoring Charms couldn't catch?

Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around them vanished—and so did they. Harry could feel the seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands on his knees and his glasses on his nose, but for all he could see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars. It was very disconcerting compared to wearing the Cloak of Invisibility.

"Let's go then," Ron's voice said from his right. Harry heard the gears grind a little as Ron shifted the gear-stick.

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose.

In seconds, the whole of London lay, slightly smoky and glittering, below them.

Then there was a popping noise and the car, Harry, and Ron suddenly reappeared.

Harry panicked. "Fix it before we're seen!"

"Uh-oh," Ron said, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. "It's faulty—"

Harry slapped his hand away and pummeled the button, and everything vanished again.

He breathed a moment of relief and then everything flickered around them again. Harry instantly pounded the button to no effect.

"Hold on!" Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy.

Harry stared at the solid mass of cloud pressing on them from all sides. His stomach was queasy. If they had been seen, Snape was going to throttle him.

"Alright then," Ron said calmly to himself. "Now, we need to know which direction to go in. Got to check the train."

"No," Harry said, knuckles braced white against the car's door handle. "We've already broken Section 13 of the Statute of Secrecy. If we're _seen—_"

"A little dip below won't hurt anything," Ron assured him and dropped the car below the clouds.

"_Pull up! _We're going to get caught!"

"No, we're not. We're too high up for Muggles to see us, so help me find it, you git!"

Realizing the futility of arguing with the idiot who was the driver, Harry twisted around in his seat and squinted at the ground. Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet snake.

"It's right ahead of us," Harry yelled. "Now pull up!"

"Due north," Ron said unhurriedly after checking the compass on the dashboard. "Hold on—" And then they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out into a blaze of sunlight. "Now, we'll just have to check on it every half hour or so…"

"Why? To raise the odds of us getting caught?" Harry grumbled.

"Relax; Muggles don't see anything!" The Gryffindor said confidently.

Harry turned towards the window, feeling glum. Muggles might be blind to a lot of magic but a flying car was not something they would miss. He absently wondered if there were Anti-Radar Charms… or would they have to worry about Her Majesty's Royal Airforce…?

"So, all we've got to worry about now are aeroplanes," Harry muttered to himself glumly. Or fighter jets, he inwardly groused.

Beyond the glass pane, it was a different world. The wheels of the car were likely skimming the sea of fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun. However, Harry could not enjoy the fantastical sight, knowing that he'd made a mistake in climbing into the Bewitched car. He thought that if things went too terribly he could always climb to the backseat and get his broom out from his trunk in the boot. Then he'd be able to board Hogwarts Express, hidden beneath the cumulus clouds beneath them.

"Oh, right. Aeroplanes," Ron said, sounding like he knew what those were.

"How do you know what they are?"

"You met my dad. He's crazy about anything Muggle. He's got loads of Muggle photo books, and our shed at home's full of Muggle stuff. Dad takes them apart, puts spells on them, and puts them back together again."

The Slytherin was certain that doing what Ron described was illegal, but since Harry had a Restricted book at the bottom of his trunk and a Bewitched Muggle watch on his forearm he had little room to point fingers. "Oh, right. So, what's your dad do at the Ministry of Magic?"

"He works in the most boring department," Ron lamented. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

Harry couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. Even without knowing exactly what Mr. Weasley's position exactly entailed, he definitely understood that Mr. Weasley was part of the problem that his office was trying to curb.

"Oh don't you ruddy make fun of me. My dad's brilliant at raiding people's homes. It's not easy finding Muggle-made things that have been Bewitched," Ron said sourly.

"No, no. I wasn't laughing at that. I find it a bit… _ironic_ that your father works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and owns a _flying_ _car_."

"Oh," Ron said in surprise. "Yeah, I suppose that if he raided our house, he'd have to put himself under arrest." After that, whenever there was a quiet spell in their conversation Ron would giggle to himself.

When nothing happened for an hour, Harry finally began to relax. This, thought Harry, wasn't such a bad way to travel—past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, in a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat pack of toffees that Harry had saved from Honeydukes. Harry imagined how his year-mates would react when they swooped and landed smoothly on the sweeping grass in front of Hogwarts Castle in a Bewitched car. Being an enchanted object aficionado, Theodore would likely turn green with envy.

Despite Harry's protests, Ron _insisted_ on regular checks on the train as they flew farther and farther north; each dip beneath the clouds showed them a different view. London was soon far behind, replaced by neat green fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive with cars like multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches. Harry knew the probability of their being seen was very high, since the Invisibility Booster no longer worked. He tried not to think too hard about being expelled and having his wand broken in half. Coming to a resolution, Harry decided that he would rather live in the Muggle world than try to eke out an existence as The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Then-Later-Was-Shamefully-Expelled-From-Hogwarts.

Several boring hours later without a single flyby of neither aeroplane or fighter jet, Harry had grown tired of the miserable trip. The toffees had made him extremely thirsty and neither of them had anything to drink. He and Ron pulled off their thick jumpers, but Harry's cotton shirt stuck to the back of his seat and his glasses kept sliding down the end of his sweaty nose. He had stopped noticing the cloud shapes and was thinking longingly of the train miles below, where one could buy ice-cold pumpkin juice from a trolley pushed by an old witch. _This is probably how someone stranded in the desert without water feels_, Harry mused. He had long changed his mind about getting his broom out. For all he knew Hogwarts Express had enchantments on it so that someone _couldn't _board it after it left the station.

"Can't be much farther, can it?" Ron croaked, as the sun started to sink into the floor of cloud, staining it deep pink.

"Check on the train again," Harry said in weary defeat.

It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds.

Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whinge. Harry knew that this was not a good sound. He exchanged a glance with Ron who looked extremely nervous.

"It's probably just tired," Ron said. "It's never been this far before…"

Harry pretended not to notice the noise grow louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness. Chilled, Harry pulled his jumper back on, trying to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving feebly, as though in protest.

"Not far," Ron said to the car. "Not far now." He patted the dashboard nervously.

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew.

"_There!_" Harry shouted, making Ron jump.

"_Blimey,_ you nearly scared the skin right off of me…" Ron mumbled tartly.

"Look, you! Hogwarts is straight ahead!"

Ron let out an excited gasp.

Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts Castle.

Unfortunately, the car began to shudder and then was steadily losing speed and altitude. Of course this would happen with their objective in sight, Harry thought grimly as he reached for a seatbelt that wasn't there. He turned to check behind him and then down at the front benchseat. There were no safety harnesses or restraints in this car. Harry felt lightheaded at the realization. His hands went to grip the car door handle and hanger above the door, bracing for impact.

"Come on," Ron said cajolingly giving the steering wheel a little shake as he had obviously not realized the danger they had found themselves in, "Nearly there. Come on—"

The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the bonnet. Harry shoved his foot hard under the glove compartment as they flew towards the lake. At least the window was open in case he had to swim out.

The car gave a nasty wobble. Harry could see the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile or less below them. Ron's knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

The car wobbled again.

"Come _on_," Ron urged, like a desperate mantra. "_Come on_."

Harry let out a little laugh. After two attempts on his life, he was going to die from a _car_ accident. Harry was a fool.

They were over the lake—the castle was right ahead—Harry thought for a moment that they might actually make it, and then Ronald Weasley put his foot down on the brakes.

There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died completely.

Harry glared at Ron the Berk, who'd gone still as death.

"Uh-oh," he said with a quavering tone.

The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering speed, and headed straight for the solid castle wall. Harry was apologizing to his instinct for not listening to it before he followed Weasley's harebrained scheme. He mentally apologized to Snape and Nanua for dying so stupidly. He should've waited for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to appear. There _had_ to be a different way to Hogwarts if one missed the train—

"_NOOOOO!"_ Ron screamed, swinging the steering wheel around; they missed the dark stone wall of the castle by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses and then the vegetable patch.

As many more seconds passed, Harry realized that perhaps the reason the safety restraints had been removed was because of magic. He would have expected the car to drop like a stone ending in their messy deaths; instead, they were gliding as if the car were under a charm that made it much lighter than it appeared.

Fully panicked, Ron the Berk let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of his back pocket—

"Are you mad?!" Harry yelled at him in alarm as the car began to swerve sideways.

"STOP! STOP!" Ron screamed, whacking the dashboard and then the windshield as the car began to spin forcing Harry against the door. They were still plummeting. The ground was flying up toward them—

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but it was too late—

CRUNCH.

With an earsplitting explosion of metal on wood, the car hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled bonnet; a golf ball-sized lump was throbbing on Harry's head where he had hit the windshield and to his right Ron let out a low, despairing groan.

Forehead hurting, Harry wondered if his life would always be terribly exciting. Unable to see since his glasses had flown off, he asked resignedly, "Are you okay?"

"My wand," Ron said with a squeaky voice, "Look at my wand—it's nearly snapped in half."

Blurry long shapes were held towards him. Harry reached towards the dashboard, not feeling his glasses and then ducked down finding them by his feet. They were all bent out of shape and one of the lenses had cracked, but Harry could finally see.

Ron's wand was a splintery mess and barely held together by its core.

Harry opened his mouth, but at that very moment something hit his side of the car with the force of a charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Ron. Before either of them could react, an equally heavy blow hit the roof causing it to crumple inwards.

Grabbing his glasses to keep them from flying off his face again, Harry looked around. "What was tha—"

Ron gasped, raising a shaking pointing finger at the windshield, and Harry looked just in time to see a branch as thick as a giant python smash right through it. He jerked to the left to avoid getting speared.

The tree they had hit… was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.

Harry's eyes grew big. He recognized it from Professor Sprout's extra lesson the Slytherins had earned for finishing the first year's Herbology curriculum early last year a few weeks before exams were to begin. It was the Whomping Willow _and they had run right into it_!

Ron screamed as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the porous windshield was now trembling under a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving—

"_PUT IT IN REVERSE_!" Harry yelled as Ron moaned from his stupid attempt to open the door and make a run for it.

"I can't turn it on!" Ron wailed. The ceiling sagged, and the Gryffindor cried out, "We're done for!"

Harry pushed him back and tapped the ignition with his wand. The car roared to life. Harry didn't know how to drive it with a useless Gryffindor rocking in the driver's seat.

"_Reverse!" _He commanded tapping it with his wand again, and the car shot backwards sending Harry sideways into the dashboard; the tree was still trying to hit them. Harry could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out of at them as they sped out of reach.

The car suddenly stopped, throwing Harry back onto the bench seat. He felt blood dribbling down the side of his face.

"That," Ron panted, looking relatively unscathed, "was close." He patted the dashboard. "Well done, car—"

The car however had other thoughts. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Harry felt the seat tip sideways steeply to the left. He tumbled onto the dewy grass. Loud thuds told him that the car was ejecting their luggage and Hedwig's cage.

Harry watched in fascination as the car—dented, scratched and steaming—rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily. Did enchanted objects… could they gain _feelings_? He wondered.

"Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. "Oh no," he moaned. "Dad'll _kill_ me!"

The car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust. Harry didn't fault it in the least.

"Can you _believe_ our luck?" Ron said miserably, bending down to pick up a fat gray rat. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get the one that hits back."

Swallowing numerous insults intended for the idiot Gryffindor beside him, Harry looked back at the old tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly. A few looked broken.

"Come on," Harry said unenthusiastically, "We'd better get up to the school…"

It wasn't the easy arrival Harry had pictured. Stiff, cold and bruised, he and Ron the Berk had seized their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.

While Ron continued to bemoan their bad luck, Harry wondered who had prevented them from entering the platform… Obviously somebody hadn't wanted Harry to board Hogwarts Express. He guessed it might have been the house-elf Dobby's work, but he didn't know whether a house-elf was capable of what was surely powerful magic…

Inside, they stood at the foot of the steps aside from the Great Hall. Ron dropped his trunk irritably. "I think the feast's already started." He quietly peeked inside. "Hey—we're missing the Sorting!"

Harry though was too tired to be excited.

Every year the Sorting Hat—an old patched and frayed hat—placed first years into one of the four Hogwarts houses: Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. Harry well remembered putting it on exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered in his ear. The dratted thing had placed him in Slytherin, the house that had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other, instead of Gryffindor with Hermione Granger, who'd become his very best friend last year.

Harry sat upon his trunk, while Ron watched the goings-on at the top of the stairs.

"Hang on," Ron muttered. "Where's that greasy-haired git, got off to now?"

"Who?" Harry thought he might be talking about Draco.

"Snape. He's not at the High Table."

Jumping to his feet, Harry scowled at Ron. "I'll hex you if you insult my legal guardian again, you twit."

Ron glared at him. "Oh, wait. I _heard_ about that. You think an ex-Death Eater like Snape _really _cares about you?" The Gryffindor snorted. "And you think _I'm_ stupid."

"He's not at the table because he probably had to finish something before he went to the feast," Harry said in a reasonable tone.

"I hope he's been _sacked_," Ron groused.

"Oh, come off it. Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't _fire_ him without notice."

"Maybe, he's _left_," Ron continued, "Because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job _again_!"

Reminded that Gilderoy Lockhart was their new DADA instructor, Harry glared at him, very irritated, but before he could say anything a very cold voice said behind them, "Or maybe, he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Hardly feeling the aches and pains from the car crash, Harry spun around with a smile on his face. "Professor Snape!"

Ron had gone completely silent next to him.

"Follow me," Snape said curtly. "Leave your things; they will be taken care of."

Sending Ron a pleased smile, Harry quickly went after the professor, their steps echoing in the hallway that was lit with flaming torches.

The delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the chilly, dimly lit dungeons. They were heading straight for Snape's office.

"In!" he snapped, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

Ron was shivering next to Harry. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars and books. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

"So…" he said softly, "The train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter and the destitute Ronald Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a _bang_, did we, boys?"

Unworried, Harry began, "No, sir; it was the barrier at King's Cross. It—"

"Silence!" Snape said coldly.

Harry's mouth snapped shut. Snape was in a very _foul_ mood.

"Where is that Bewitched Car?"

Ron gulped. Neither of them said a word.

This wasn't the first time Snape had given Harry the impression that he could read minds, but a moment later, his guardian had unrolled today's issue of the _Evening Prophet_.

"You. Were. Seen," he hissed out, showing them the headline: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. "By no less than _seven_ Muggles." Snape looked at them both furiously.

Harry's face flushed in shame behind his horribly mangled glasses. He clutched his robes in his hands as the dried blood began to itch on his cheek.

"Not to mention the considerable damage you've inflicted to the Whomping Willow, which has been on these grounds since before you were born," Snape said snidely.

Ron blurted out, "Honestly, Professor Snape, I think that tree did more damage to _us_ than we—"

Harry winced, knowing what was coming.

"_Silence!_" Snape snapped again. "Most unfortunately, _you_, Mr. Weasley, are not in my house and the decision to expel you does not rest with me."

Harry swallowed. He didn't feel hungry anymore now that he felt sick to his stomach. So, he was going to be shamefully expelled because he'd followed the harebrained scheme of a Gryffindork…

Ron was staring at Snape white-faced. "You… you wouldn't _expel_ Harry, just for going along with me. I mean, I was the one driving! And I had to _convince_ him to come with me. And he warned me that we'd be seen if I kept checking on the train!"

Harry knew it was no use attempting to argue.

"You have risked the exposure of our world," Snape directed at the Weasley. He stood up and prowled around his desk to stand menacingly over at Harry. "_You_ know the law."

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly.

"And yet you chose to embark on a journey in an enchanted _Muggle_ machine—which any Wizard worth his salt would know is as unreliable as a broken wand." Snape's eyes flicked to the broken thing still cradled in Ron's hands.

Harry kept his mouth shut and stared straight ahead. Snape was right. Harry _had_ learned last year during Charms class that Enchanted Objects were fickle at best and unpredictable at worst. He'd just forgotten until he'd gotten the reminder.

"Sir, _please_ don't expel Harry. The barrier wouldn't let either of us through and it was my plan, and he's the most decent one of your lot," Ron implored Professor Snape.

"My… lot?" Snape sneered.

"Oh—that is—I meant to say—"

"I assure you that Harry Potter is of no concern of yours, and his impulsive decision to trust your judgment has led to this," Snape said with a sneer as Harry looked at the floor in disgrace.

"But—!"

"He _will_ take the train home _tonight_. Furthermore—"

"Severus, that is not solely your decision to make," the headmaster said quietly.

Harry and Ron turned to see that Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore had appeared. The Head of Gryffindor's house looked very angry with her thinned lips, while the headmaster was unusually grave.

The little bit of hope that had sprung at the headmaster's arrival disappeared. Harry's whole body went numb. Professor Dumbledore stared down his very crooked nose at them, and Harry suddenly found himself wishing he was still getting knocked around by the Whomping Willow.

"Please explain why you did this," Professor Dumbledore said. It would have been better if he shouted. Harry wasn't sure how to handle disappointment.

Since Ron was too afraid to say a word, Harry ended up explaining to his knees. He told the teachers everything, deliberately leaving out who owned the bewitched car. It sounded as if Ron had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. Harry knew it was obvious even though he never said who the car belonged to, but nobody asked any questions after the car. When he finished, Harry looked up. The headmaster was peering at them through his spectacles.

"Headmaster," Snape began, "These two have flouted the Statute of Secrecy, as such—"

"Severus, I am well aware of our bylaws, having written quite a few of them myself…" He looked over his glasses at Harry and Ron. "As Head of Gryffindor House, it is for Professor McGonagall to determine the appropriate action for Mr. Weasley."

"I'll go and get my stuff, then," Ron mumbled.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"You're going to expel me, aren't you?"

Harry watched Snape's face as his eyes gleamed. The Potions professor was _enjoying_ Ron's misery.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley, but I must impress—on both of you—the seriousness of what you have done." She looked at Ron with kinder eyes. "I will be writing to your parents, Mr. Weasley. And you will receive detention."

"But Snape's threatening to expel Harry!" Ron exploded.

"_Professor_ Snape requires my approval to expel a student from his own house," Professor Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "It helps… ah, dampen biases."

The gleam was snuffed out and Snape cleared his throat, but he was ignored.

"I must get back to the feast, Minerva. Come Harry, there's a delicious-looking custard tart that I believe you will find most engaging to your sweet tooth…"

Ron shot Harry a jealous look as the Slytherin was swept out of Professor Snape's office. Professor Snape with a look of pure venom followed close after them.

"Professor," Harry began speaking to the headmaster, "I was culpable in the damage inflicted on the Whomping Willow and—"

"I'm sure Severus will arrange detention for you. But first," the old Wizard pulled out his ivory wand and tapped Harry's glasses. "_Oculus Reparo_."

Harry's glasses were fixed in a jiffy. He took them off and inspected them. They looked as new as if he'd just bought them! Before Harry had a chance to react, the headmaster also cast a Refreshening and Cleaning charm. Harry felt much better. "Thanks, professor." He hesitantly looked over to Snape. "So… I'm not expelled?"

"As my decision has been overturned, this is your one and only warning. One more, and you will be _expelled_."

"Now, now, Severus. Term hasn't even started yet. No need to scare Harry."

Snape looked as if he'd been forced to swallow something particularly vile. Could he really be that worried about whatever bad thing might happen at Hogwarts? Then Harry wondered why his guardian didn't just pull him out of Hogwarts if he seemed so intent to expel Harry. Harry must be missing something; Snape never did anything without having a reason…

They entered the Great Hall with its floating candles hovering beneath a bewitched ceiling showing a starry night. Most of the students peered at Harry like an exotic animal, since he was the only one without a small pointed black hat and matching black robes on.

Professor Snape pulled him aside after Professor Dumbledore bid them farewell to head to the High Table. "If I catch you bragging about this incident, you will find detention unbearable."

"Yes, sir."

"Go on then." The bad-tempered professor motioned towards the Slytherin table.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He rejoined his table, who cheered jubilantly to see him. The Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost, floated towards him and personally greeted him.

He was of course jostled and pestered on all sides by the newly Sorted first years about how he'd gotten there and why his clothes were torn and how he'd gotten knocked on the head. Harry answered Pike Lestrange's calm questions first, partly because he wasn't simpering like Peter Reinhardt and partly because there seemed to be space around Pike like he was made to feel unwelcome by his year-mates. This seemed to have an effect on the rest of the group; As soon as Harry had answered Pike's questions, the second year told his younger housemates that he was starving and really wanted to eat something before they were dismissed to bed. Almost immediately Pike found himself peppered with questions on how he was on such familiar terms with Harry.

Draco was all the way down the table with Crabbe and Goyle as was Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis, and Bulstrode. Not caring about appearances or manners, Harry scarfed down the food that appeared on his plate. Several pairs of his young housemate's eyes went to his forehead when they thought he wasn't looking.

Harry drank great gulps of pumpkin juice, promising himself that he would try everything in his power to stay out of trouble this year. Sally-Anne was the first of his year-mates to greet him; Harry carefully responded. She gave him a curious look at his lukewarm reception, but didn't call attention to it.

Not long after, Theodore managed to budge a few first years aside to recount Dumbledore's yearly speech and the notices for that year to Harry. Then, Dumbledore announced that the feast was over. Harry followed his housemates to the portrait of the Thin Lady, who flapped a lacy green fan. _"Elodea_," was apparently that week's password and the portrait swung open to the common room.

It only occurred to Harry then that the thin woman dressed in emerald might have an actual name besides 'Thin Lady'.

Before a blazing fireplace, Snape stood. "Welcome back to the Vipers' Nest, Slytherins," he said wryly.

Many of Harry's housemates chuckled.

"I trust that you all have managed to stay out of trouble, barring one anomaly," Snape glanced at Harry, who looked away innocently.

Everyone sniggered; Harry flushed.

"As you know, the strength of our house lies in our strong ties to one another. As role models to the impressionable first years, I expect each and every one of you to display impeccable manners and attributes of a proper Slytherin. Failing in that, I will not hesitate to confiscate your time and privileges and send correspondence to your parents or guardians. Do not disappoint me." Snape's black eyes scoured over them, and then he turned to the entrance to their common room and stepped in front of them. "Be ready to properly greet your new housemates."

No sooner had they lined up by house year with second years in the first row, the first years tumbled in looking wide-eyed and tired behind Prefect Gemma Farley and another prefect Harry didn't recognize. Harry remembered the exceedingly long way to the Slytherin common room that he'd taken last year with the rest of his year-mates. Now, he understood that it bought time for Snape to talk to the rest of his house before they arrived.

Snape gave them a brief spiel, practically word-for-word as he'd told Harry's group last year. His robes billowed out around him as he stormed down the hall and the door slammed shut. Head aching and feeling bruises elsewhere, Harry tenderly touched the knot on his forehead. He knew blows to the head could be dangerous, but wondered why Snape hadn't insisted that he go see Madam Pomfrey…

Having been dismissed, Harry and Theodore went straight up the tower on the right before the four prefects began their introductions to the first years. They stopped at the second-to-last landing and poured into the room.

There were different wall-hangings in this room and larger wardrobes pressed up along the walls. Harry also saw the usual ebony desks opposite of the five four-poster beds, beds which had green silk curtains hanging about them.

Harry noticed that his trunk was at the last bed farthest from the door again. He rather preferred that spot.

"Right," Theodore said, breaking the silence. "So, you used an enchanted Muggle Artifact to get here? Pushing your luck aren't you?" His blue eyes flicked to Harry's forehead and then to the side of his head which had connected with the inner windshield of the car. Harry thought he might have nasty bruising and scabs from his tiny adventure.

Harry snorted. "I wasn't left with a lot of options was I? The barrier to Platform nine and three-quarters refused to let me through."

"That's odd," Theodore said.

The door slammed open, and Draco Malfoy walked in looking as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "You've made quite the entrance, Harry. The first years think that the _famous_ Harry Potter is an idiot." Crabbe and Goyle shuffled in behind him. "I suppose I ought to give you this, now that Professor Snape's done using you as an example." With the neutral look on his face, Draco casually offered a vial of potion.

Harry took it and then uncorked it, sniffing the contents. It was a simple healing potion. He downed it in a gulp, and his minor aches and pains faded. He reached up and felt that the knot on his forehead had gone away too. "Thanks."

Without a word, Draco flopped into his bed and kicked off his expensive-looking, shiny black shoes.

"You know, it's not like I _want_ to be famous," Harry admitted, shedding his Muggle clothing.

"Potter, you positively _reek_ from here," Theodore drawled and then pinched his nose. Draco laughed as if he'd made a joke. Obviously they thought something 'stunk'; that is, Harry's declaration that he wanted none of his infamy.

Stifling his frustration, Harry tapped his wand in a predetermined pattern to unlock his trunk and pulled out what he needed. Closing it, he tapped a different place to set a different configuration to unlock it again. Over the summer he'd specifically learned this technique using an unused candle to keep his trunk more secure for the school year. If only he'd known that tapping his wand was a perfectly acceptable form of magic outside of school...

Shirtless, Harry went down the stairs with his arms loaded with clean clothes and his burlap sack to the communal showers. He figured if Draco was able to laugh at him, then maybe they wouldn't be at each other's throats this year.


	5. Gaggle of Potterheads

**_Author's Notes: _**_That last chapter was fun, wasn't it? Harry's esteem of Ron has fallen again. The scene in the second film when Snape chewed them out for being seen flying around by Muggles is one of my favorites. Canon-wise, the previous headmaster, Armando Dippet, was originally blamed for the flying Muggle car incident since he'd gotten 'feeble' in his advanced age of 355. I always wondered if the stress from these accusations ultimately was what killed the poor man since they took away his broomstick, his mode of independence. He died between September and December of 1992. A strange coincidence don't you think?_

* * *

The very next day Harry barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from the breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon. Even if Harry hadn't looked outside his tower window that morning, he would have known by the bewitched ceiling that today was going to be a dull and grey cloudy day.

While he ate, the Owl Post came in. Not long after, Harry thought that something had _exploded_; a roaring sound had filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling. Mrs. Weasley's voice rang violently for everyone inside the Great Hall to hear.

Harry looked over at Ron who had the most mortified expression on his reddened face as the scarlet letter screamed at him at the top of its paper lungs about stealing the car and getting a letter from Dumbledore and the inquiry Mr. Weasley faced at work.

The plates and spoons rattled and Harry's juice rippled in its goblet as Mrs. Weasley yelled. Harry had wondered if his name was going to crop up, but it never did. At the very end of her tirade, the letter turned to Ginny Weasley and said something very quietly to her. Harry could hear nothing by now over the ringing of his ears.

The envelope dropped and ripped itself apart.

Many Slytherins laughed at the Gryffindork and gradually talking broke out again.

"You look like you've never seen a Howler before Harry," Theodore began amiably.

"No, I haven't," Harry agreed. He'd received a red letter from the Ministry but Ms. Gobfinn hadn't yelled at him at the top of her lungs for supposedly breaking the law.

The Head Boy, Nicholas Grimmet, and Head Girl, Samantha Pitts were passing out course schedules down the table. Harry took his and noticed that he had a study period first thing and then Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Bleeding hell," Harry hissed.

Theodore looked over his shoulder. "I take it you don't fancy Gilderoy Lockhart, especially after he grabbed you for that picture in _The Daily Prophet _as a publicity stunt. You looked like you wanted to knock the pearlies right out his mouth."

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry muttered.

His friend gracefully dropped the subject. "Have you liked your birthday present so far?"

Harry nodded. "I didn't realize goblins were Dark."

His roommate nodded, ticking off with his fingers. "Trolls, orcs, most serpents, grindylows, lethifolds, boggarts, dementors, kappas, erklings, kelpies, dugbogs, nogtails… Really, I could name them all day, Harry. That's why Da's business is booming. He made your Dark Creature Detector, remember?"

"Yeah, thanks for it," Harry said. His friend smiled. Harry didn't know whether he should be suspicious of him or not. His father could like having a wealthy client, like Harry, backing him. Harry had met several of those types at the charity events at Malfoy Manor.

Study period was really just a social gathering as nobody had any homework to do. Around him, Harry's year-mates caught up with one another, while Harry brooded.

The bell tolled, and most of the girls squealed in excitement.

Harry could only scowl.

Draco didn't say anything to Harry on their way to their first class of the term; Harry thought it was ironic that Draco kept making quips about Lockhart's narcissism, considering the other boy's penchant to brag about his bloodline. The ten Slytherins turned around a bend in the corridor and reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Harry!" An adult tenor voice rang out.

Harry didn't bother to hide his disgust for the untrustworthy adult who had no problem being informal with him.

Waving gracefully, Gilderoy Lockhart was immaculate in his sweeping robes of turquoise. His golden hair was under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming. "If I may have a word with you before class begins?"

His roommates sniggered, but Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Davis sighed as if they would have loved to have a one-to-one conversation with the insufferable man. The others all walked into the classroom, leaving Harry alone with the irritating Professor Lockhart.

"Er, what did you want to talk about, professor?" Harry managed with a polite tone though he really wanted to be offensive.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Lockhart said, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight that came in through the corridor window as he shook his head sadly. "When I heard—well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."

Harry said nothing, since he had absolutely no idea what the twit was talking about.

"Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a Muggle transport to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. I even told your Head of House since it stood out a mile, Harry. Harry, _Harry_."

It was remarkable how Lockhart could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking. Harry silently agreed with Theodore's assessment that his urge to kick Lockhart's teeth out rose sharply in conjunction to the length of time he had to stand in his presence…

"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" The man blathered on. "Gave you the _bug_. You got on the front page of the paper with me and couldn't wait to do it again."

"_Professor_," Harry said on the cusp of impoliteness, "That's not—"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Lockhart said, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. "_I understand_."

_Oh Merlin_._ If I do anything to him, Snape will expel me._ Harry tuned the adult's words out as he continued to ramble about his inane belief that he'd incited Harry with _The_ _Daily Prophet's_ impromptu photo-op to deliberately break rules in order to get on the front page again. Harry's fingers itched to wrap themselves around the handle of his holly wand held in the holster. He wouldn't hurt the man, but the temptation to paralyze him with a spell was only overcome by the thought of getting expelled.

"But when _I_ was twelve," Lockhart said, segueing into something he might have thought could be relatable to Harry and likely wasn't, "I was just as much as a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody!"

_Merlin, what a bloody idiot! _Only someone who grew up among Muggles could claim that Harry was a _nobody_. Harry had made this very same mistake, but he had his Muggle relatives to blame. Exactly how out of touch with reality was Professor Lockhart and did that make him dangerous? Was that why Greengrass had warned them?

"I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He glanced at the scar on Harry's forehead.

But then Harry frowned in confusion. Calling Professor Lockhart a twit and an idiot didn't make any sense. It was _Lockhart_ who had pointed him out in the crowd of Flourish and Blotts. It was _Lockhart _who'd grabbed him for the photo-op _because_ Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. What was this teacher trying to accomplish? Was he completely bonkers or was it all intentional?

When Harry remained silent, Lockhart continued to talk, "I know, I know—it's not quite as good as winning _Witch Weekly's _Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have—but it's a start, Harry. It's a _start_," the celebrity said giving Harry a little shake. "Well, then, we can't stay out here chatting all day. Class must begin!" Lockhart gave Harry a hearty wink and strode into the classroom.

Harry stood there, stunned for a few seconds; he felt as if his brain cells had begun to shrivel up in protest to Lockhart's yammering. Shaking his head, he entered the classroom and saw that everyone was seated. Gilderoy was rambling on and on about himself again at the front of the classroom.

The shortest Slytherin sat in the only remaining chair at the front and center, after glaring at Draco because the git had chosen Harry's seat near the back.

"Now, I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you've read the books I assigned, how much you've taken in..."

The test parchments were handed out, and Harry merely stared at the questions as Lockhart told them that they had thirty minutes to complete it. These _fifty-four _questions had absolutely _nothing_ to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts! When time was called, Harry turned in his test without answering a single one.

Lockhart rifled through the test parchments looking terrible disappointed. He lectured them on necessity of reading their books and answered more of the obscure biographical questions Harry hardly cared one bit about. When Harry glanced at the girls, Greengrass and Sally-Anne both looked as murderous as Harry felt, while the other three were enthralled by Lockhart's words.

"But Miss Parkinson knew my secret ambition to rid the world of evil… and market my own range of hair-care potions! Good work!" He flipped through her test papers. "Full marks, Miss Parkinson! Ten points to Slytherin. Where is Miss Parkinson?"

Beaming, she raised her hand.

"Excellent!" Lockhart's teeth were entirely too straight and unnaturally white. Harry was reminded of the mouse skull he'd found once, bleached by the sun. "And so! To business!" The adult reached down and picked up a covered cage and then jumped into a sales pitch of how many terrible things they would approach in class and how Lockhart would save them all from it.

In spite of his dislike of the man, Harry leaned over his empty desk, wanting to know what was in that cage. Lockhart had placed his hand on the cover.

"I must ask you not to scream," Lockhart said in a low, serious voice. "It might provoke them." As the whole class held their breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"_Cornish Pixies_? _That_ is supposed to _scare_ us?" Draco asked in disgust.

"Yes," Lockhart said dramatically, "And freshly caught too."

Theodore couldn't help himself. He began to laugh raucously. Soon, Crabbe's and Goyle's guffaws joined him.

"Yes?" Lockhart smiled at Theodore.

"Well, sir—" Theodore choked, "They're hardly—_dangerous as _a mere triple X on the Ministry's Dangerous Creature Identification S—"

"Don't be so sure!" Lockhart exclaimed with a seriousness that couldn't be taken seriously, wagging a finger. "Devilish fiends they are!"

Harry stared at the eight-inch tall pixies, whose beady little eyes stared at him cruelly. They were electric blue with pointed ears and shrill voices that sounded like a lot of annoying budgies chirping at one another. They were stuffed so tightly in the cage that they could hardly do anything but rattle the cage bars and make faces at the people closest to them.

"Right then," Lockhart said. "Let's see what you make of them!"

Without teaching anything or warning them, their professor ripped open the cage.

It was instant pandemonium.

Thank Merlin that Draco knew a thing or two about Cornish Pixies.

The blond raised his wand in the center of the room and yelled, "_Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!" He swung in a rather complicated motion and then pointed his wand towards the cage; immediately every single one of the creatures was sucked into it. The door snicked shut.

Harry and everyone else cheered.

Draco flourished a bow.

"Very, very good, Mr. Malfug—"

"_Malfoy_," Draco hissed.

"Very well done. Ten more points for Slytherin!" Lockhart continued as if he didn't hear him. "Of course, I was going to perform that charm myself if nobody did it themselves, but look at _you_! Brilliant work, indeed."

It was the first time Harry had ever seen Draco look torn between wanting to preen and wanting to blacken someone's eye. It was gratifying to see him have to deal with someone who was _more_ pompous than he was.

Thankfully, the bell rang, and they were excused for lunch.

Once they'd entered the corridor and headed down the stairs to the Great Hall, Draco said what most of them had been thinking, "That buffoon didn't have a clue what he was doing."

"Obviously, he was giving us hands-on experience," Parkinson said with certainty.

"Without teaching us anything first?" Theodore countered, doubt thick in his tone.

"You've all read his books—look at everything he's done. We were never in any _real_ danger," Davis added.

"That's because Cornish Pixies—while irritating—aren't exactly what you'd term a hazardous creature, Pansy," Greengrass said. "I can't say for sure whether he knows anything or not; not for the first class of the term at least. His head might as well be full of saw dust for all I can tell, but I swear to you that my parents believe he's a fraud. And I believe them."

Parkinson, Davis, and Bulstrode made various noises of scornful disbelief. Harry, at least, was willing to believe her. There was something off about their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Seeing that she had a sympathetic audience with the Slytherin boys, Greengrass turned to them. "My parents warned me not to confront him, so none of you should either."

"I believe you," Theodore said. "Even my da could teach Defense Against the Dark Arts better than Lockhart."

"Why doesn't he?" Sally-Anne asked him. "He's an expert on Dark Creatures, isn't he?"

Theodore said with a grin, "One of the best."

"I can tell you why Mr. Nott doesn't. It's because he's too superstitious," Draco said loftily. "Everyone knows the position has been cursed since Morgana le Fay walked these halls."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded at Draco's words. Harry wished that he had the chance to meet Theodore's dad.

"As to why Da doesn't apply," Theodore answered Sally-Anne, "It's because he's a free spirit. He hates any work that requires him to stick to a strict schedule."

They headed into the Great Hall and dined. Harry saw Hermione, but she never looked towards him even once. By the nodding of her bushy hair, Hermione Granger seemed to be energetically talking to Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley.

As soon as he finished his meal, a disappointed Harry went into the overcast courtyard as he hoped to avoid any more informal meetings with Gilderoy Lockhart. In the crowded courtyard brimming with voices and laughter, Harry noticed that many first years were watching his every move, even the new Slytherins—excluding Pike Lestrange who waved in greeting before turning back to whatever conversation he'd started with his adopted brother, Draco. At least Harry's younger housemates were a little more discreet about staring.

After staring at Harry for a long moment with an expression that Harry could only describe as starry-eyed, a mousy boy wearing robes with a Gryffindor crest and holding a Muggle camera approached him. "I'm—I'm Colin Creevey," the red-faced boy said breathlessly, forgetting his name was already spelled out on his robes. "D'you think… would it be alright if—can I take a photo?" He raised his camera hopefully.

Harry looked at him blankly. "Why?"

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, inching closer. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me." The first year then went on detailing the lurid story of how Harry survived the Killing Curse and how Voldemort had disappeared soon after and how Harry had been raised by Muggles who'd turned out to have mistreated him.

Colin's light green eyes raked over Harry's forehead and he shuddered in excitement. "A boy in my dorm said there was a potion that would make my photographs move. Isn't it _amazing_ here? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, and he couldn't believe it either until Professor McGonagall came to visit. So I'm taking loads of photos to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I could have one of you…" Colin's eyes traveled towards Harry's shoulder. "Or maybe your friend could take a photo of us together and then you could sign it?"

"_Signed photos_? You're giving out _signed photos_, Harry?" Draco's loud and scathing voice echoed around the courtyard. "I think my godfather's been spoiling you rotten if a few front page mentions have given you a big head."

Harry inwardly groaned and looked over his shoulder. "Just humor him, alright?"

"Everyone line up!" Draco crowed out. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos for a limited time!" He mockingly waved his hands towards Harry.

"I'm only doing this because he asked politely," Harry said through his teeth. "You don't need to be a prat—"

"To the first ten people to line up, Harry will demonstrate the use of _Expelliarmus_!" Draco continued derisively.

Several first years crowded towards Harry behind Colin Creevey, who stood there staring at Harry like he was the best person in the world.

"Stop it, _Draco_," Harry growled. Now he really was going to have to sign photographs and teach them—

"I think you're jealous," innocent Creevey said, whose entire pale body was as thick as Crabbe's neck.

Quickly, Harry moved in front of the tiny boy, who had no instinct for danger when it was right in front of him. "Draco, why don't we go to the library—"

Draco shoved Harry aside. "I'll have you know that I'm not _jealous_ of a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open by a curse makes you that special." Crabbe's meaty arm blocked Harry from interfering. Harry glared up at the larger boy, his hand silently gripping the handle of the holly wand in his holster. If he had to hex Draco to protect the small Gryffindor, Harry would.

Colin's mouth worked for a moment. "But it was the Killing—"

"You," Draco directed condescendingly at Colin Creevey, "are a disrespectful leechworm. How would _you_ feel if I started asking after your mother when you didn't breathe a word about _her_?" The first year's eyes widened comically. "Better yet, I should confiscate your services taking photographs to collect photos of all the new Muggle-borns who don't know the difference between a celebrity and a hero. You _do _know which one the Boy-Who-Lived is, right?"

Harry's throat had tightened as his palm grew sweaty around his wand-handle. In a strange way, Draco was _defending_ him. It was very odd, considering that the other Slytherin loathed him.

When Colin shrank under Draco's glare instead of answering, the Slytherin smiled nastily. "I'll give you the quick answer since you've got dung for brains: He's a _hero_…" Draco tapped his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Yes, that photo montage idea sounds brilliant the more I think of it. I'll even hang a banner above it with the words 'A Gaggle of Potterheads'... You'd like that wouldn't you, Gravy, being a brazen Harry Potter fanatic? I bet you're the sort to collect his discarded items to make a table-shrine dedicated to him."

With a horrified look, the Gryffindor first year tensed as if he'd been struck, while Draco snorted derisively.

Harry could no longer stand by and let Draco bully the boy. "Draco—"

"Go pick on someone your own size, _Malfoy_," Ron's angry voice cracked across the courtyard.

"Be careful, Weasley," Draco sneered. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mummy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice that was surprisingly spot-on in Harry's opinion, "_If you put another toe out of line—_"

A knot of Slytherin fifth years laughed loudly at this, as Ron's ears went red. "You shut up about my mum!"

Draco gestured in a condescending manner towards Ron. "Weasley, if you're friends with Harry… Why haven't you begged him for a signed photo? It'd be worth more than your family's little _hovel_ and you—"

"Draco, shut it!" Harry shouted angrily.

"—wouldn't have to wear robes that were handed down from your five, smelly brothers."

"_You rotten little wanker_!" The Gryffindor said through clenched teeth, his face bright red as he whipped out his wand, which caused the group of students around Draco to step back. A towering Crabbe braced an arm around Harry who'd attempted to jump between them.

"Am I supposed to be _afraid _of a broken wand?" Draco said, in a confident tone. He was so secure in his belief that the Spellotaped wand posed no threat to him that he didn't even reach for his wand. Goyle cracked his knuckles and looked intimidatingly down at Ron.

Just then, someone hissed, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" His turquoise robes swirling behind him self-importantly, Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them. He stopped, eyeing the group of first years surrounding Harry. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

The moment he saw Professor Lockhart Harry forgot all about the fight between Draco and Ron. Harry attempted to walk towards the safety of the castle to get away from the clingy adult. Unfortunately the numerous first years followed him, totally defeating Harry's chance at escape. Lockhart caught him by the arm. "I shouldn't have asked! Harry, we meet again!" He flung an arm around his shoulder jovially.

Anger burned inside of Harry at the humiliation of being pinned to Lockhart's side. Harry saw that Draco looked a mite sorry for him, but instead of interfering he slipped back into the crowd unnoticed. Ron Weasley looked like he had forgotten his previous anger and had a disgusted expression on his face as he stared at Harry and Lockhart. He must think Harry was a complete toebiter.

"_Professor_, I have to get to class—" Harry said with barely passable politeness, releasing his wand to try to pull the man's arm off of him.

"Come on then, Mr. Crakely," Lockhart interrupted Harry, "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and when you've treated it we'll _both_ sign it for you."

Creevey's camera flashed a couple of times, and then the bell tolled in the courtyard, signaling afternoon classes were about to start. Harry tried to break Lockhart's grasp on him as the narcissist told the other disappointed first years to get a move on. After failing to extricate himself from the professor, Harry was forced to walk into the castle still clasped to Lockhart's side.

"A word to the wise, Harry," Lockhart began paternally in a lofty tone. "I covered up for you back there with young Crakely and those impressionable first years—if he was photographing me too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much…"

"I'm not! Colin Creevey _asked_—"

Obviously deaf to Harry's denials, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring Ravenclaws. "Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible—looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but," Lockhart paused giving a little chortle.

"If you were _listening_—"

"No, I don't think you're quite there yet. Well, I have class to teach, see you later, Harry."

Harry was finally released. He straightened his robes and adjusted his leather schoolbag, trying to dispel his anger at the presumptuous man. Why the bloody hell had Lockhart decided to focus all his attentions on Harry? A bell tolled. Harry started violently. He was supposed to be in Herbology! Without a second thought, he dove through a nearby tapestry, taking the nearest shortcut to the other side of Hogwarts where a side door would take him outside. He was still five minutes late. He was puffing when he finally made it to his Double Herbology class, heard something ghastly shrieking, and promptly fainted.

When Harry came to, he was on the dirt floor looking at the hems of students' robes.

"Mr. Potter, are you alright?" Professor Sprout said irritably.

Harry adjusted his glasses and sat up. "Er… I think so."

The Herbology professor had her hands on her hips.

Nineteen pairs of eyes were on Harry.

"Professor Lockhart dragged me to his classroom—I came as quickly as I could."

The Professor's plump face had a dark frown upon it. "Well… You were out cold for a few minutes. We're re-potting Mandrakes. If they weren't infants, their scream could have been fatal."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly.

"Next time, be aware of the posted signs on the doors," she said pointing towards the door. A silhouette of someone with a pointy hat was putting on a pair of ear muffs and below it was the phrase 'ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK'. Harry hadn't even noticed it in his hurry not to be tardier than he was. "Well, come on then. We haven't got all day, and we're only half-done with the Mandrakes." She shoved a pair of ear muffs at him, and Harry took them.

Harry and the other students slipped their ear protection on. With a demonstration from Theodore, Harry re-potted his first shrieking Mandrake.

Once they were done carefully placing the re-potted Mandrakes where Professor Sprout pointed, the class took off their ear muffs. Quiet conversation began. The Ravenclaws were a lot easier to get along with in Harry's opinion, particularly Padma Patil—whose twin was in Gryffindor. She mentioned in her quiet voice that she'd love to be Chaser for the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team eventually. None of the Ravenclaw second years even bothered to mention his scar, the appalling conditions of his upbringing with the Dursleys, or the past allegiances of his legal guardian. It was a nice reprieve actually.

When the final bell tolled, the dirty and tired Slytherins and Ravenclaws went straight to dinner. Wanting a change of pace, Harry ate among the chatty first-year Slytherins that had a set of twin girls among them. They were Pike Lestrange, Roy Harper, Van Vaisey, Jerome Stahl, Astoria Greengrass, Hestia and Flora Carrow, Bridget Carpenter, and two others whose names Harry had already forgotten. Harry all the time kept trying to ignore the bright grins Lockhart kept sending his way from the High Table.

Harry glanced to his Head of House—who had the misfortune of sitting right beside Lockhart—but Snape seemed to be locked in a discussion with Professor McGonagall, ignoring Lockhart's attempts to draw him into conversation.

As soon as they were dismissed, Harry practically ran ahead of his housemates to get to the dungeons before Lockhart could descend upon him with more long-winded, ironic parables on the evils of narcissism.

That was how Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days, dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have somehow learned Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to thrill Creevey more than to greet Harry six or seven times a day and hear Harry respond, no matter how exasperated he sounded.

After the nth time, Harry decided to put the first year's photography skills to good use when the boy finally brought the photo of Lockhart and him to sign. "Creevey, could I ask you for a small favor?"

"Yes!" The first year squeaked with excitement as he clutched the photo with a drying signature.

Harry wiped the quill he'd used and put it away. "Could you take a photograph of Draco and me on our brooms at the next Slytherin Quidditch practice? Preferably when it's sunny. I'd like to pay you ten galleons for it to be animated and framed. Does that sound reasonable?"

The thin-framed boy looked like he was about to have a fit. "Sure thing!" He said ecstatically, clutching his camera. "B-but," the boy said and then bit his lower lip.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out five gold coins. "This should pay for the materials you need to get started."

Colin Creevey immediately brightened, and the money disappeared. "You can count on me, Mr. Potter!"

With a slightly indignant look at being called 'Mr.' by someone only a year younger than him, Harry couldn't help the grin on his face when the boy ran down the hall yelling for one of his friends.

As Harry had hoped, that little project kept Colin Creevey from following him around the rest of the week.

Whether good or not, Hedwig had noticed Harry was still stressed about Lockhart and had taken to visiting him during breakfast, nipping his ear affectionately and encouraging him to pet her feathers.

Charms class on Tuesday was nothing special. Transfigurations Wednesday morning was a torturous experience.

The entire class time was spent turning a beetle into coat buttons. For some reason Harry had forgotten how to do this. It wasn't until Draco placed a handful of buttons on Harry's desk and pointed out how he imagined the rim of the button was the beetle's shell that Harry was able to make a scampering button with spindly legs. He sighed in disappointment. There were two more legs than ought to be on it.

"At least it's something," Bulstrode muttered as she chased her beetle around with her wand to no effect. Nonetheless, Harry was relieved to hear the bell for class to be over. He gathered up his books and left the Transfigurations classroom to go to lunch. There was a Study Period followed quickly by a free period and then they had Astronomy starting at sundown. Double Potions with the Gryffindors took place Thursday afternoons, and Friday was dull and ever boring with Professor Binns teaching History of Magic.

When he exited the History classroom, with Crabbe and Goyle his attendants Draco sidled up next to Harry. "Instead of trying to avoid him, don't you think you ought to tell Professor Snape—"

"I don't remember asking you for help," Harry said curtly, forcing his legs to carry him more quickly to their study period.

Surprisingly, Draco didn't pursue the topic after Harry rebuffed him.

Harry was aware that Lockhart wouldn't stop—even if someone else interfered. He had already decided that he had to figure out how to deal with infuriating people like Lockhart anyway as Harry was quite sure that the world was filled with others like him.

As Snape promised at the start-of-term feast, Harry had detention nearly every night other than Wednesday and Sunday, scrubbing out cauldrons and preparing potions ingredients. Harry had noticed he'd been promoted to ingredients that required more finesse than the ones he'd prepared last year.

It made a small part of him glow with pride.


	6. Quidditch Practice and Dueling

_**Author's Notes: **Lockhart is a bit of a creep isn't he? I'm surprised no one's asked me why Snape wants to expel Harry so badly, but won't pull him out of school. It's a combination of attempting to defy Dumbledore (who thinks Snape's overreacting over the rebellions of a preteen and then when Snape told him about the behavior of Lucius' house-elf the headmaster thought he was still overreacting/paranoid) and Lucius (who is up to something nefarious that could seriously harm Harry). Simply pulling Harry out of school doesn't guarantee that he'll be safe and it would tip Lucius off to Snape's soft-hearted attachment. Dumbledore would never allow Snape to expel Harry either. So, basically... the point was to tip Harry off to be on his guard this year; hence, the numerous threats of expulsion. Harry doesn't listen to direct warnings very well (as Snape discovered when Harry foolishly went to the third-floor corridor and ultimately confronted the Dark Lord by himself) so he's opted for fuzzy, indistinct threats to muddle and hamper Harry's decision-making towards placing himself in harm's way. Or so goes the theory anyway, i.e. where direct methods fail, let's try manipulation since it seems the more effective of the two (aka detentions vs Pariah).  
_

* * *

That weekend, Harry was woken by Draco. "Come on, wake up! If you don't make it to your own challenge, you'll automatically get put on the bench for the season."

Harry scowled and put on his glasses. Draco was wearing a set of Slytherin Quidditch robes. Harry dressed sluggishly into his own set. Improperly casting a Switching spell could have harmful effects, and Harry didn't trust he could do the proper wand movement while half-asleep. "What challenge?"

"_My_ challenge." Draco puffed out his chest. "I'll be the new Slytherin Seeker, when you fail to defend your spot on the team."

"I won't lose to the likes of you, you git," Harry grumbled. Draco laughed.

After Harry pulled on his cloak for warmth, he discovered that his shrunken broom was missing from his trunk. Nanua must have confiscated it before Harry departed September First. He followed an excited Draco, who'd likely taken a dose of Wideye Potion since he was by no means a morning person, down the stairs.

In the common room, Flint and the other Quidditch players were holding black-handled brooms, which Harry recognized as the Nimbus Two Thousand and One model. "Here you are, Malfoy," Flint said offering one of the brooms.

Harry gave a confused frown towards the black brooms.

"Oh, that's right. Professor Snape gave me your broom." Marcus Flint, Slytherin Team Captain, reached into his pocket and pulled out Harry's shrunken broom. He tapped it with his wand, "_Engorgio_." Then he handed the mahogany-handled broom to Harry. "There you are, Potter."

"Thanks," Harry said accepting the trusty broom.

"Breakfast, you cretins! No point practicing on an empty stomach!" Flint roared out.

Their team made a guttural roar of approval and they headed to the Great Hall. An hour later, they made their way to the Quidditch pitch where another team dressed in scarlet robes with gold trim was practicing.

Seeing several flashes, Harry squinted up at the stands to see Creevey taking pictures.

"Flint!" The Gryffindor Team Captain bellowed. "This is our practice time! We got up specially, so you can clear off now!"

Flint towered over Oliver Wood. "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

The other Gryffindors came to line up in front of the Slytherins. They barely had enough people to make a team.

"But I booked the field!" Wood said, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," Flint said, reaching into his pocket, "But I've got a specially signed note from Professor Snape." He showed it to Wood.

"You've got a new Seeker?" Wood said distracted after reading. "Where?"

From behind the three tall Slytherin Chasers, Draco appeared and put a hand on his hip smirking.

"You already have Potter!" Wood said unnecessarily. "What do you need a new Seeker for?!"

"If you recall last year," Flint said, "Potter was bed-ridden for part of the Quidditch season."

Flint was rubbing it in a little much. It wasn't like Voldemort would try to come back to life and kill Harry _every _year.

"And he had detention our last game of the season. If you recall, our reserve Seeker had to play," Montague added sharply.

"Try-outs haven't even started yet; How'd you get on the team, Malfoy? Threaten their families?" One of the Weasley twins asked, as the Gryffindors looked at Malfoy with intense dislike.

Flint smiled as the whole Slytherin team—excluding Harry and Cassius Warrington, a Reserve Chaser—brandished their top-of-the-line racing brooms. "His father gave our team a most generous gift."

The six of them held out the highly polished, brand-new black handles which gleamed under the Gryffindors' flaring noses in the morning sun. With a bored look, Draco was holding his against his shoulder like it was a normal racing broom. A sudden thought came to Harry… If he beat Draco at the challenge, would he get to ride the sleek black broom?

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," Flint said carelessly, flicking a speck of imaginary dust from the end of his own. "Compared to the Cleansweep Fives…" He smiled nastily at the Weasley Twins who gripped their old models. "It sweeps the board with them."

The Gryffindor Beaters laughed. "Flint, we don't need fancy brooms to _beat _you to a bloody pulp."

"Yeah, your reflexes are so mindbogglingly slow it's a miracle you can even score for your team."

"Oh look a field invasion," Flint said offhandedly, not bothered by the twins' insults, as two students ran across the pitch.

Ron and Hermione were running towards them.

"What's happening?" Ron asked his brothers. "Why aren't you playing? And why's Malfoy here?"

"I'll be a Slytherin Seeker this year, Weasley," Draco said smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven beautiful broomsticks in front of him.

"Good aren't they?" Draco continued, "Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

Harry's teammates howled with laughter.

"At least no one here had to _bribe _their way onto a team," Hermione said sharply. "Everyone else got in on pure talent."

Harry snorted in amusement. It was just like Hermione to cut to the quick of the matter.

Draco flashed a nasty look at Harry, and Draco's smug look faded. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat out.

Flint stepped in front of Harry before he could charge down Draco. Adrian Pucey pressed his hand against Harry's wand arm, which had swung up. "You can challenge him to a duel afterwards," the fifth year Pucey said quietly among the Gryffindor uproar that had arisen at Draco's 'filthy blood' insult.

Harry looked past Flint to see that his teammates had to step in front of Malfoy to keep the Gryffindors from attacking him.

Ron managed to squeeze his arm past them with his Spellotaped wand in hand. "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy! Eat slugs! _Slugulus Eructo_!" A loud bang echoed around the pitch and a jet of green light shot out the wrong way hitting Ron.

"Ron! Ron! Are you alright?" Hermione squealed.

When his fellow Slytherins stepped away from the Gryffindor, Harry watched as Ron tried to form the words to respond and instead gave an almighty belch. Several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap bouncing off and onto the Quidditch pitch. Harry about lost his breakfast at the sight.

The Slytherins around him roared with laughter. Flint was so doubled up that he had to hang onto his new broom for support.

The Gryffindors surrounded Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs.

Entirely too excited, Colin Creevey popped up and began to take photos of the event. Harry would have interceded if Draco hadn't placed a light hand on his shoulder.

Harry shrugged it off roughly. "Don't touch me. I'm very close to hexing you," he warned.

"Let's see _who_ bests _whom_ at being Seeker."

"Fine, and if I win I get your broom," Harry agreed.

"And if I win, you'll have to tell everyone that I beat you without cheating, and that I'm the best Seeker in Hogwarts."

"Fair enough," Harry said unable to keep the laugh out of his voice, "I also challenge you to a duel, _Draco_. I never want you to _ever_ say that word again, even outside of my earshot."

With an amused grin, Draco nodded. "I accept your dueling challenge, Harry. I hope you don't regret it."

"Seekers, come on then!" The Slytherins had moved to the center of the pitch, leaving the Gryffindors to deal with the hapless Ron Weasley. Flint had already placed the box with the Quidditch balls on the field. "A Seeker on each line. Good." He opened the fidgeting box and leaned forward to pull out the Golden Snitch. He released it. Harry watched it dance and dart around.

"Go!" Flint roared the very instant the Snitch shot off into the sky.

Shoving off from the ground, Harry was instantly on the Snitch's tail, but Draco was right behind him.

"All right there, Scarhead?" Draco taunted him and then began to gain on him.

Harry tightly turned, bending into the broom to top its max speed, and then yanked it straight following the Snitch. It immediately shot off in the opposite direction and Harry followed. If Draco had been paying attention, he could have snatched it as it passed him by. Instead, he'd been more concerned with avoiding a collision with Harry.

Diving, diving, diving… A laughing Harry stretched out his arm, spinning on his broom to angle his hand towards the fluttery wings of the Snitch. He grabbed it just before he had to twist his body and redirect the broom to avoid running into the naked and drab-colored stands.

With grey eyes alight with something like respect above a cocky smirk, Draco floated on his broom nearer to Harry. "You wouldn't make a half-bad broom dancer, Scarhead."

"_I'm_ not the one on reserve," Harry shot back. They both hovered down to the field, dismounting their brooms. Harry handed the Snitch to Flint, who put it away. When Harry turned, he hadn't expected Draco to thrust his broom to Harry. Harry had fully expected him to renege on the deal.

"You won it," Draco said, but Harry could tell the Reserve Seeker didn't actually want to give it up. Draco must have only offered the broom because his father wanted them to be on good terms, but at this rate Draco was going to resent Harry even worse if he accepted. When he'd stayed over for a month at Malfoy Manor, Harry had seen Draco's most prized possession: a Comet Two-Sixty series broom.

"I don't want to have to relearn a new broom." Harry pointedly looked at the black broom and at him. "I know the Nimbus Two Thousand. Thanks for the offer, but I'll keep this. I doubt you're much used to hand-me-downs anyway."

Appearing pleasantly surprised for a split second, Draco snorted and lazily leaned the broom against his shoulder. "I'll tell Professor Snape that we duel tonight. He should let you off from having to do detention."

"Right," Harry said.

Half a day later, after finishing homework that wasn't due until the next week, Harry went down to the Slytherin common room. It had been changed. Somehow the viridian-tinged room had been elongated and a large narrow platform was situated in the middle. Very large sconces burned from every pillar.

Their Head of House glided onto the stage and raised his hands for silence. "Many of you have never seen a duel before. Listen closely. I will only repeat these rules once." He gestured to the platform. "The opponents will face each other and then salute or bow to one another. Then they will return to their assigned side at opposite ends of the stage where their second stands. After I count to three, you may attack your opponent. Blood-letting, pain-inducing, and silencing hexes, curses, and charms are disallowed, and the use of the Unforgivables is… of course, _forbidden_." Snape's black eyes surveyed the room. "If at any point you wish to bow out of the match, step off the stage. If you slip or are knocked off, you have lost. You may always challenge your opponent for a rematch; the duel will take place next month. First years may only observe. Older students may not challenge younger students, but if a younger student was feeling so bold they may challenge their betters. Any questions?" Snape looked around. "Very well. The first duelers of the night are Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter." He gave them a strict look. "Disabling spells or curses _only_." He stepped to the very edge of Draco's side and Gilbert climbed onto Harry's side.

"Hi, Gilbert," Harry said with a grin at the prefect he'd spent many nights learning spells and Wizard chess strategies from the previous year.

"Better be sharp, Harry. Malfoy's bound to have some tricks up his sleeve."

"On your mark…" Professor Snape's voice whipped out. Harry immediately walked to the center of the stage where Draco was already waiting.

Harry raised his wand to salute Draco and then bowed, while Draco did the same to him.

"Scared, Harry?"

"You wish," Harry retorted.

They turned on a heel and walked away from each other. At the very end of the stage, they took their preferred stance.

Snape counted crisply; on two, Draco cast, "_Everte Statum_!"

Harry flipped over backwards, head over heels and landed in an unsightly heap on the stage. Feeling as if he'd gotten hit over the head with Aunt Petunia's frying pan, Harry got to his feet with an irritated look. Goyle and Crabbe laughed, surely finding it incredibly funny, while there was only a lukewarm chuckle from the rest of their house.

"Malfoy, one more move like that and you will have lost by default," Snape said dryly.

"I understand, Professor," Draco said with a smirk.

A murderously glaring Harry didn't wait for Snape to tell them to begin or give his year-mate a chance to defend himself. "_Rictusempra!_"

Draco spun sideways several times in the air and fell on his bum facing the opposite direction. Everybody laughed much harder at his silly fall. Draco seemed dazed as he sat there, giggling to himself. Snape grabbed him from the back of his robes and set him on his feet.

Harry's blond year-mate could hardly stop giggling, but it was obvious what he was going to do when he pointed his wand at Harry's knees. "Tar—"

"_Tarantallegra!_" Harry cried out pointing at Draco's knees. Not only was Draco breathless from the first charm, now his legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep, and then he toppled off the stage.

Snape raised his hands to quell the roar of laughter at Draco Malfoy's crushing defeat. "As Draco's second, I concede the duel. Potter wins this match." Professor Snape pointed his wand a Draco. "_Finite Incantatem!_"

"I challenge you, _Harry_!" Draco yelled furiously.

"I accept," Harry said calmly, still on the stage.

"I'll beat you next time! _Mark my words_!" He then ran straight for the dormitory stairwell, Crabbe and Goyle following.

Harry sighed and stepped down from the stage. Would Draco ever not get upset when he lost?

"That was brilliant spellwork, Harry," Gilbert praised next to him.

"Thanks. I had a brilliant teacher."

With a smile, Gilbert returned to his position on the stage as another pair of Slytherins came forward to duel. Harry watched the duels avidly. Sometimes the loser challenged the winner, but most of the time the two opponents nodded to one another and parted ways, but always Gilbert or Professor Snape would say 'I concede the duel' whenever their student lost.

Harry learned many more spells, their incantations and wand movement he would need to practice later. He grinned at the thought of wiping the floor with Draco the next time they dueled one another.

Soon October arrived, spreading a damp chill everywhere. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by the sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepper-Up potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. As usual, illness around Harry didn't seem to infect him. While his roommates all had to take Pepper-Up potion some time that week, Harry hadn't even felt a sniffle coming on.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and the little orange dots by Hagrid's hut swelled to the size of garden sheds. It wasn't until then that Harry realized they were pumpkins.

Flint cancelled practice, not wanting any of his team members to catch a cold unnecessarily in the rain. However, Harry received permission from Snape to fly around on the pitch when the other teams were done practicing, so long as the clouds were doing nothing more than being overcast and misting slightly.

Harry careened around every which way, enjoying the feel of the cool, wet air slapping his face. Unfortunately, when Flint, who'd been made to supervise his flying, finally called time late that evening because the rain was beginning to pour down, Harry had landed in ankle-deep mud. He quickly made his way up the Hogwarts steps as sheets of rain came down harder.

Once they were inside, Flint grimaced at Harry's muddy state. "Don't want Mr. Filch to raise a fuss." He pointed his wand at Harry's trainers. "_Scourgify_."

His shoes and pant cuffs were very clean now.

Flint cast the same on himself, and then he waved his wand around. "_Ventus Clathian_," He said very clearly.

Harry's robes and cloak were instantly lighter and completely dry. Harry would remember the wand movements for the Drying Charm next time he was soaked with water.

"There we are," the Slytherin Team Captain said, "Can't have our best Seeker catch a cold so close to our first match." They wandered up the corridor near the Great Hall.

That was when Harry heard something strange, and then his watch went very cold.

"_Come… come to me…"_ It whispered menacingly_, "Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…_" It said.

"What?" Harry said, frowning beside him. Only a blank stone wall met his gaze. He lifted his sleeve to look at the watch, but the face was blank.

"What?" Flint asked flatly.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Flint asked blankly.

"That voice! It said…. Didn't you _hear_ it?" Harry questioned whether he'd felt the chill of his Bewitched watch at all.

"I think it's time you ate, Potter. Your ichor must be out of balance."

Harry wasn't sure what ichor was, but he decided not to mention the voice again.

That night, after dinner, he wrote a note to Hermione Granger who so far had seemed to have forgotten him other than the brief encounter between the Quidditch teams on the pitch. If anyone knew what was going on, she might. Reminded that he'd meant to ask earlier, he also requested her for information on the recent historical significance of the word, 'Pariah', in the Wizarding World.

After sending Hedwig off with the letter, a drained Harry hoped he would hear good news by the time she sent a letter back.


	7. Enemies of the Heir

_**Author's notes: **Harry is emotionally and socially immature compared to his peers that he also misses plenty of blatant social cues that could help him navigate his interactions with his fellow Slytherins, who only see that he needs protection while he attempts to figure out who he is._

* * *

Telling Harry she'd look into what a Pariah legally was, Hermione responded much as Harry expected about his main worry. It _wasn't_ normal to hear voices, even for wizards and witches. Murmuring an Ever-Burning Jinx, the letter went up in flames, and Harry buried his head against his arm on the table, sitting with his year-mates.

"What's the matter with you? You've only started a plate, and not even finished it!" Parkinson sounded alarmed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I bet it's _girl_ trouble," Davis said knowingly. "Merlin knows Potter enjoys exchanging correspondence with that Muggle-born."

"That's _not_ it."

"Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey about something?" Sally-Anne asked in a reasonable tone.

"It's not anything physical, emotional, or metaphysical," Harry said muffled against his arm, going through the list that Psych-Healer Fawley had used during their sessions.

"So, you're afraid you're having a mental break or something, Harry?" Theodore leaned closer to him.

Harry shrugged without speaking.

"What happened?" Parkinson asked. She exchanged glances with the others who were near him. "We swear we won't tell anyone, will we?"

They agreed.

Sighing, Harry sat up to crane his head back so he could stare at the Bewitched ceiling. "Last night after flying around for ages… I walked into Hogwarts with Flint and I… I heard a whispery voice. And it wasn't a nice voice, one that Flint couldn't hear." Harry looked at them hopefully. "You think Peeves could do that? Make one person hear things the other can't?"

All five sets of eyebrows had risen to their hairline.

"Not a chance, huh?" Harry said miserably, pressing his forehead against his forearms again. He hardly slept last night since it had bothered him so much.

"Well, did your detector go cold?" Theodore leaned his chin against a hand. "It doesn't work reliably on the average ghostie, but on poltergeists it can be fairly dependable."

The others were listening curiously.

"I thought it did but when I checked, there wasn't a shadow."

"Poltergeists can make the whole face go sort of grey. Since they're not corporeal beings there's no shadow."

"It wasn't grey either," Harry said gloomily, "For all I know, I could have imagined it going cold."

"Look on the bright side, Harry. Now that you've told us, we'll Stun you if you go off the deep end without anyone getting hurt," Theodore cheerfully said, "My uncle sort of went bonkers when he was twenty or so. It's something that runs in my family. There's a certain amount of… madness that can come with great magical power. Just take a look at the headmaster."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," Harry said sarcastically.

"Well," Greengrass said slowly, "If it helps, your mind seems sound to me…"

"Yes, because when someone doesn't _seem_ crazy, everything will turn out alright," he sniped.

"She was attempting to ease your worries, you ill-mannered prig," Davis snapped. Before Harry could respond, she turned to Greengrass, "Any movement on the Parseltongue front?"

The dark blonde grinned. "Only slightly."

"Stela's using the word-cards now. I think I know the word for mouse," Parkinson was saying, and then made a soft sibilant noise that sounded like _PHUU-d _to Harry. He had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing.

"Is something funny?" came the brunette's icy tone.

"You said something very close to 'food'," Harry said, "Not 'mouse'."

"Wait, you mean to tell me that it's _possible_ to learn Parseltongue as a second language?" Theodore's face was alight with excitement.

"You'll be the first to know once we've cracked it," Davis said.

Theodore fist-pumped the air. "Fantastic_,_" he hissed with excitement.

Harry didn't know why they didn't just ask him to say certain words in Parseltongue to Stela, but he wasn't going to be bothered by it. They'd ask if they needed help.

When the next few weeks came around and there were no more voices, Harry was finally able to relax. Maybe it had been a one-time occurrence.

Quite happily, Harry went to the Halloween Feast in the Great Hall, having missed out on eating it last year due to the troll being let in. There were live bats fluttering around adding to the mystique. This year, pumpkins big enough to sit in had been carved out into lanterns. There had been rumors all week that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for entertainment.

Harry settled in and dined as he had never dined before. The rumors turned out to be true as dancing skeletons tap-danced on the High Table, their bones clacking together noisily. Professor Snape was not supping with the rest of the teachers. Harry thought it was a little odd that his guardian seemed so distant, having left his office only to teach. The whole troll incident aside, Harry remembered that Professor Snape had acted the same way last year on the very same date.

Before the feast ended, Harry had to go to the loo. Theodore tagged along with him.

After washing his hands once he'd relieved himself, he turned to his friend. "Theo… Did something important happen on October Thirty-First?"

Theodore looked at him. "The Dark Lord was vanquished."

Harry frowned. He couldn't see Snape, who had publicly renounced the Dark Lord, mourning the death of an evil wizard…

"Why do you ask?"

And then Harry heard it. This time he immediately looked at the watch-face, but only a dark squiggly line had appeared on it.

"_…rip….tear…kill…"_

It was the same voice, the same cold murderous voice he had heard after walking into the Entrance Hall with Flint.

Racing out of the bathroom, Harry listened with all his might as he swung his head this way and that, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway. He clutched the stone wall beside him.

"Harry…?" His wand at the ready, Theodore had caught up to Harry. "What are you hearing?"

"Shut up a minute, I might be able to find out where the voice is coming from…" Harry ran down the hall, shuffling his hands along the wall. He could _hear_ it. It had to be nearby somewhere. The watch went warm whenever Harry made a wrong turn.

"_…ssoooo hungry… for ssso long…"_

"Listen!" Harry said urgently, and Theodore froze watching him with his wand still up.

_"…kill…. Time to kill! KILL!_"

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away—upward. He stared at the dark ceiling in confusion. How could the voice be moving upward? Was it a phantom to whom stone ceilings didn't matter? But then a shadow shouldn't have showed up on the watch...

"This way!" he shouted and he ran, narrowly missing the Stun Spell Theodore threw his way that sparked in a shower of blue. "Don't Stun me. The watc—" Harry had to duck another Stun spell. Perhaps telling Theodore that he heard voices had not been the best of plans. He ran upstairs to the first floor, Theodore's footsteps clattering behind him.

"Harry! Come back!"

Running as quietly as he could, Harry cocked his head, his ears straining. Distantly from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "_Blood..…I ssmell blood….. I SSMELL BLOOD_!_"_

Harry's stomach lurched as he was hit by a Full Body-Bind Curse. His legs and his arms slammed against his sides, and he fell to the floor sideways.

_"Kill! KILL!"_

Harry's eyes roved. The voice was going to kill someone!

"We need to take you to Madam Pomfrey and have you checked out. Are you coming with me or do I need to float you down there?"

Harry gave Theodore his best watery expression, expressing agreement nonverbally and aurally.

"Alright. So long as you behave." Theodore waved his wand and cast a Canceling Spell; the stiffness left Harry.

Gleeful that he managed to trick Theodore, Harry jumped to his feet and dove around the corner before his friend threw another spell at him. Harry hurtled up the moving marble staircase to the second floor, running through as many corridors as it would take him. When the watch grew colder, he knew he was on the right track.

Harry came at last to a deserted, flooded passage. His instinct screamed at him to leave, but Harry's curiosity wondered at what was glistening on the corridor's wall. He stepped through water.

Foot-high words had been smeared on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by flaming torches.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. **  
**ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

As Harry edged nearer, he squinted at something hanging from one of the torch holders. He nearly slipped on the water-slick stone under his feet.

It was Mrs. Norris, hanging by her tail. She was stiff as a board and her eyes were wide and staring. Harry perhaps should not have dined as much as he had as his stomach cramped at the sight.

The pounding of footsteps faltered to a measured gait. "Did you do that?" Theodore asked shakily. Harry turned and saw his friend pointing his wand at him.

Harry shook his head. "No, it was already like this…."

"We should alert Professor Snape. He'll know what to do."

This seemed like a reasonable demand, but a great thunder was coming. The boys exchanged a confused look.

Theodore cursed. "The Halloween feast must be over. We've got to get out of here." They began to walk in the opposite direction of the clamoring students only to realize that the noise was growing clearer; the sound of laughing and carrying on was floating down the other side of the corridor as well. Theodore and Harry ducked around the corner again just as the first wave of students entered the far-end of that corridor.

"We're screwed. Absolutely screwed," Theodore said, mostly to himself as he gazed at the horrid message running with what looked like blood.

Knowing they only had seconds, Harry did the first thing that came to mind. He pulled out his magic cloak, grabbed Theodore, and dragged him towards the flooding girl's loo not far from them. He threw the cloak over the both of them. Theodore turned around with a questioning look. Harry lifted a finger to his lips and then pointed at a mirror in front of them.

"Ruddy hell! You have an Invisibility Cloa—"

Latching his hand over Theodore's mouth, Harry lifted a finger to his lips more forcefully.

The chatter and noise went deathly silent when the two groups of students came upon the desecrated part of the hallway.

Dropping his hand from his roommate, Harry looked around the old bathroom and noticed spiders crawling out of the nearest windows.

Then Harry heard Draco shout among the whispering, "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, _Muggle-_borns!"

Harry grinned victoriously. Draco had kept his promise after being soundly defeated in their duel. Theodore gave him an uncomfortable look.

"What's going on here? What's going on? Make way!" Filch's voice rose among the uneasy murmuring of the students. No doubt the Hogwarts Caretaker had come running because of the huge crowd. "What's happened to Mrs. Norris?!" The Hogwarts Caretaker shrieked. Then there was a pause. "It was one of _you_."

The crowd let out a startled yelp.

"One of you's _murdered_ her! Killed her! I'll kill you!" He roared. "I'll—"

"_Argus!_" Professor Dumbledore's voice cut through the man's ranting. There was silence and then he said, "Everyone will proceed to their dormitories immediately."

That was when Harry wondered why Draco, a Slytherin had headed upstairs instead of downstairs to the dungeons… It wouldn't have been the first time that the Grand Marble Staircase heading down to the dungeons took a detour up a floor before going down. But the Slytherins generally took the longer staircase in the Entrance Hall which never changed… Had Draco _followed_—

"It was _definitely_ a curse that killed her—probably the Transmogrifian Torture—I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there. I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her," Lockhart's bright words said.

Filch let out a dry, racking noise. Harry felt sorry for the man.

Once the noise of students clambered away, Professor Dumbledore finally spoke up, "She's not dead, Argus."

Lockhart abruptly stopped his long-winded story of protecting the people of Ouagadogou.

"Not dead?" Filch croaked. "Then why's she all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," Professor Dumbledore said evenly.

"Ah! I thought so!" Lockhart crowed.

"But _how_, I cannot say," Dumbledore continued as if he'd never been interrupted. Harry didn't understand how the man could have hired such a duffer as a teacher.

"Ask that _Potter_ boy," Filch's voice carried sharply. "He did it! I know he did it!"

Frowning and frightened by the thought of being blamed, Harry looked up at Theodore who had a grim look. Why did Mr. Filch think _Harry_ was responsible?!

"No second year could have done this, Argus," Professor Dumbledore said firmly, "It would take very advanced Dark Magic—"

"You saw what he wrote on the wall!" Filch spat out. "He's bloody well shaping himself up to be the next Dark Lord, he is! How else could he have survived You-Know-Who's attack last year?"

Harry grew hot with fury. Only Theodore's cool fingers on his shoulders kept Harry rooted to the spot.

"If I might speak in defense of a student of my house, Headmaster," Snape's voice murmured.

Harry's sense of foreboding increased, but only because he had no idea what Snape was going to say.

"Harry Potter is the _least likely_ of any of Hogwarts students to become a Dark Wizard. His distaste for the Dark Arts and impatience with Potions has all but excluded him from becoming the next 'Dark Lord'," Snape said evenly.

"My Kneazle has been Petrified!" Filch screamed. "I want to see some _punishment_!"

"We will be able to cure her," Dumbledore said patiently. "Professor Sprout has a rather healthy growth of Mandrake. As soon as they mature, a potion will be made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in, no longer able to remain silent, "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," Snape said icily. "But I believe that _I _am the Potions Master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause. Harry had to shove his hand over his mouth to stop from giggling. Theodore shot him a concerned look.

"Er, yes. But of course. However, should you require my services—"

"I do not," Snape said sharply.

"Well then! Should _anyone_ need me I will be in my office!"

Harry could hear the other staff members as they murmured furtively to one another, fading as they exited the corridor.

Once he heard silence, Harry tugged at Theodore and they both began to walk towards the door. The water slapped under their feet and sloshed around their ankles noisily.

Professor Snape entered the girl's loo and looked around curiously.

Freezing in place at the appearance of their Head of House, Theodore and Harry held their breath and stayed very still.

Their Head of House narrowed his eyes at the water surrounding their feet and then headed straight at the pair hiding under the cloak. With a quick flick of his hand, he ripped the Invisibility Cloak from their shoulders. He stared at them.

"I-it wasn't me, Professor," Harry stammered.

Snape looked at the magic cloak and then looked at Harry and Theodore. "So, _this_ is what you've been using to sneak around. Consider it confiscated." He balled it up and stuck it into a pocket.

Harry opened his mouth to complain, but decided it would be better not to.

"You're going to tell me _exactly_ what—" Snape began before he was interrupted by a watery moan, and every toilet began to flush at once, drowning him out. The moaning female ghost with glasses and pigtails flew over their heads. "Myrtle, there are questions I have for you about the incident that occurred outside your bathroom," Professor Snape boomed over the noise of rushing water.

"This is a _girls'_ water closet and _only one of you_ is a girl!" Myrtle shrieked.

Harry thought that was a very strange statement to make. He didn't miss how Professor Snape's jaw tensed, and a twitch appeared on his cheek below his right eye.

Without blinking an eye, Theodore said, "Mrs. Norris was Petrified right outside your loo. Did you happen to notice that, Myrtle?"

"I wasn't paying attention," the ghost sniffed dramatically. "_Peeves_ upset me so much I came in here and tried to _kill_ myself… Then, of course, I remembered that I'm…" She let out a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dove headfirst into the nearest toilet. Water sloshed over their ankles.

"That explains the flooded floor," Theodore observed.

"My office," Professor Snape spat out and turned, splashing through the water to the door.

Once safely inside Professor Snape's warm office, Harry had divulged what he'd heard for the past few weeks as the reason for going upstairs, when Theodore didn't say a word to their Head of House's sharply worded questions.

Professor Snape gazed at Harry coldly. "So," he drawled. "You heard a sinister voice talking about blood and killing, and your first thought was to run… _into_ danger?"

"I thought someone was going to die!" Harry blurted out, and, right after, thought it had been the wrong thing to say.

His guardian pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sir, Harry was—"

Their Head of House raised a hand to interrupt Theodore's attempted spin on Harry's statement. "The message on the wall clearly alludes to _someone_ within the Slytherin House. Obviously, this is a distraction from the real culprit, who does _not_ belong to my house."

"How can you be so sure, sir?" Theodore leaned forward giving Harry's guardian his full attention.

"According to the only autobiographical account of Salazar Slytherin, only his Heir can open the Chamber of Secrets and control the monster within. Quite clearly he meant a Parselmouth," Snape said succinctly. "As _no one _within my house has that exceedingly rare ability, it is very easy to say that the culprit is elsewhere."

Harry felt very odd quite suddenly. He'd thought for sure someone would have told Professor Snape about his ability to talk to snakes. Why hadn't the prefects bothered to inform him?

"_Ah_…" came Theodore's noncommittal response. "So, are we getting detention, professor?"

Snape looked at them as if the thought had not occurred to him. A slow smirk came across his lips. "Yes, tomorrow night at seven-thirty… Potter, you have detention with Prefect Wynch in this office. Nott, I expect you to report to the Potions lab."

Once they'd exited the room, Theodore sighed. "I thought for a moment that I'd blown your cover."

Mind still stuck on that the fact that their Head of House had never been informed of his ability, Harry didn't hear his friend's statement. Faint, he stumbled and held himself upright against the wall. Was Harry the Heir of Salazar Slytherin? The memory of the message written in slick crimson blossomed in Harry's mind. _Enemies of the Heir Beware_, it'd been written. Was this Draco's idea of a joke? Maybe he'd written the words. It would explain why he was in the corridor...

"Harry?" Theodore pressed a hand against his back. "Are you alright?"

No, someone was trying to frame _him_ for the Petrification of Mrs. Norris. Feeling sick, Harry's legs gave out; only Theodore's hands around his arms helped him stay upright.

Theodore whispered, "Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey?"

"The watch showed me a squiggly line," he muttered.

"Oh? So then the voice—"

"No, it's nothing. Never mind," he said quickly, pushing Theodore's helping hands away. "I'm bushed. Too much excitement and all." He hurried to the stairs while his year-mate frowned with bemusement.

Harry really hoped he was wrong about being the Slytherin Heir because otherwise everyone was going to blame _him_ for the attacks.


	8. Behind a United Front

_**Author's Notes: **You may have noticed that thing that Myrtle said that seemed way out there. Well, it's one of those mystery plot elements my muse devised, so you'll have to wait to figure it out when Harry is of the mind to collect more clues. We're halfway to the end of this fanfic. Hope you liked the ride so far.  
_

* * *

Despite being fatigued from his lack of sleep, Harry liked the change of pace during Saturday night detention with the quiet, fifth-year Prefect Wynch. For several hours, he and the dark-haired prefect tabulated points for various Potions assignments and exams and wrote it in the top right corner. Harry was surprised that Professor Snape trusted him with such a task, though every time the door opened with another delivery of papers to score Harry was half-convinced that it was Snape about to bear down on him for not telling him about his Parselmouth ability. Any moment not spent on doing something Harry obsessively thought about what he could possibly say to defend himself from blame.

Unfortunately, for many days after the attack by Slytherin's monster, the school could talk of nothing but the Chamber of Secrets. Harry received a letter from Hermione asking if he'd heard voices before the attack. Harry hadn't responded yet; he wasn't sure how he would tell her. He was scared that she might not believe him if he told her the truth that he hadn't set the monster on Mrs. Norris. Harry felt trapped by this dangerous secret he hadn't even known he'd been keeping. Speaking Parseltongue didn't exactly come up in everyday conversation.

To make things worse, Filch paced the spot where the attack had taken place, not allowing it to fade from the collective consciousness in the slightest. The teachers had to escort students to and from class now, which was a very tedious enterprise. Thankfully, the second-year Slytherins on Wednesdays had a free period and study period for most of the day because of Astronomy II in the evening. As such, Harry spent most of his time in the library, not wanting to socialize with his housemates who'd gotten into the habit of asking uncomfortable questions.

Harry noticed that Hermione did little else but read while she was in the library, while Ron and Neville went back to the stacks pulling books off for her. The lone Slytherin sidled up to a bookcase so that it stood between him and them, gazing and poking at the spines of books, while really eavesdropping on their conversation…

"_All_ copies of _Hogwarts_, _A History_ have been taken out, Ron! And there's a two-week waiting list. I _wish _I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk even with an Extended Charm."

"Why would you want it?" Neville asked.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," Hermione responded, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. You see, I can't really remember what it is or anything _important_ about it other than Salazar Slytherin, one of the Founding Fathers of Hogwarts, had it built when Hogwarts was first founded."

"Hm, Gran told me a long time ago that it'd been open before when her firstborn went to Hogwarts… but that's all that I remember about it."

"I've never heard anything about that," Ron retorted.

"Just because you never listen to anything unrelated to Quidditch or Wizard chess, doesn't mean that Neville is wrong," Hermione said shortly.

The bell rang, and Ron and Hermione left the library bickering, while Neville tagged awkwardly along beside them.

It really came as no surprise that Hermione sent another letter the next morning, except instead of asking if she might borrow his copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, she detailed everything she had learned about the Chamber of Secrets from Professor Binns. Harry couldn't believe that Hermione had gotten that ghost off the subject of Sardinian sorcerers.

As an afterthought, she also wrote information about what a Pariah was: a legal term once used for those magical persons caught performing Dark Magic of any kind… According to Hermione, the Pariah Law had been officially and totally retracted after Voldemort's defeat. In the repeal, it was cited that those who were naturally disposed towards the Dark Arts needed to make an honest living in some way, which was why Knockturn Alley—a once-thriving black market—was officially connected to Diagon Alley on December of 1981.

Then Hermione's neat slanted writing asked Harry if he knew any more information about the 'horror within' the Chamber of Secrets that he might have gleaned from his housemates. _Anything at all might be helpful, even rumors. Since Salazar Slytherin is your house's Founder, I thought you're most likely to have heard something, _wrote Hermione.

And most likely to talk to a Gryffindor, Harry thought, after finishing her letter. Well… Harry would have to think about this a bit before he could answer her, since he didn't want to implicate himself. He already knew it was a snake-like creature of a very Dark nature. Harry had no idea who ordered the snake to frighten all the Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts or who he could blame for the attack so suspicion wouldn't fall to him.

Draco was a bigot, but he said it himself last year that he wasn't a Parselmouth. Harry would research if there was a way to mimic Parseltongue either by potion or spellwork because Theodore had acted like it was supposed to be impossible to learn by rote memorization. Harry wanted to ask Hermione to do the research for him, but his gut instinct said not to. He couldn't come up with a reason to not ask her; however, remembering the disaster with Ron and the flying car, Harry opted to play it safe.

Even as he felt guilty about it, he responded obliquely to Hermione's questions about the Chamber of Secrets and then wrote at length of his distaste of Lockhart especially since the man couldn't stop grabbing Harry every chance he had. Harry didn't bother to mention the nightmares of being locked inside his old cupboard while Lockhart stood outside it explaining to the Dursleys how he would take their nephew away where they wouldn't be bothered by him any longer and how 'Harry Lockhart' had a nice ring to it, didn't it? Harry still had chills just thinking about it.

Thankfully, after the rather exciting DADA class on Cornish Pixies, Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class again. It was little wonder to Harry; the man was completely incompetent. Unfortunately, the following day Hermione had written back in _defense_ of Lockhart, saying he was brilliant for helping all those people in his books.

The only thing that had stopped Harry from burning her letter was that she bemoaned the lack of practical application after the apparent disaster with the pixies during the Gryffindors' DADA lesson. She, Ron, and Neville had been left to clean up Lockhart's mistake with an Immobilizing Charm.

Harry hoped he had an avenue to change Hermione's mind about Lockhart without offending her. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to approach it... Regardless, Harry showed the letter to his roommates, and they had had a good laugh over Lockhart's incompetence with the Pixie Capture Charm, which he must have tried after witnessing Draco perform it once.

Instead of attempting another demonstration with live creatures, Lockhart either read passages from his books or insisted on dramatic re-enactments. Unfortunately, Lockhart liked to pick Harry to play the worst parts; one day he was Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart cured, another, he was a yeti with a head cold, and then Harry even had to pretend to be a vampire who could eat nothing but lettuce since Lockhart had cursed him. Harry thought Lockhart was full of it. He only went along with it to earn house points.

However, when Lockhart insisted that Harry act like a werewolf with a "Nice loud howl, Harry—"

He rebelled amongst the helpless snickering of his year-mates. "I'm not feeling very well today, professor. Couldn't you pick someone else?"

"Oh my dear, boy!" Lockhart exclaimed. "I have just the potion for you—give me a moment, I'll find it."

"Er, I'm going to see Madam Pomfrey, thanks." Harry all but ran towards the classroom exit.

"Harry! This Pepper-Up Potion will do _just_ the thing for you!"

Behind him, Harry heard a great many chairs move across the floor as Draco and the other Lockhart-belittlers stood up.

"Professor! What on earth happened _next_ with the Wagga Wagga Werewolf?" Draco asked with a dramatic sigh with an obviously mocking tone. "I couldn't read past that frightful passage of its defeat!"

"Yes, do tell us!" Greengrass said with fake enthusiasm and the others joined in.

"Ah!" Lockhart exclaimed with glee, his hands clapping together to quiet them down. "Now, now. I know you're all _very_ excited but I must ask you return to your seats. Harry—"

Ignoring the professor, Harry slipped out with a sigh of relief. Adjusting the schoolbag on his shoulder, Harry headed to the library. Since his essay for History of Magic was done already, he wanted to keep looking for a way to grant a person the power to speak Parseltongue. He wouldn't have much time as it was nearly lunchtime.

Three second-year Ravenclaws, Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, and Michael Corner, were walking down the hall in the opposite direction from him, but when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to his Herbology classmates they all but turned and fled from him. Harry frowned. Other students had done something similar around him the past few days. It was rather odd.

As he passed through the second floor, Harry went through the passageway where the red writing had resisted all attempts to scour it clean.

"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione?" Ron's voice wafted from Moaning Myrtle's closed bathroom door.

"Well, if you're going to chicken out, fine," Hermione responded acidly. "_I_ don't want to break rules, you know. _I _think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in."

Harry took a deep breath and tapped the bathroom door handle with his wand. "_Alohomora_." Harry opened it without any trouble. He was surprised that Hermione hadn't used a more powerful Locking Charm.

"Oh, _blimey_, Harry! You gave us a start!" Ron said, clutching the front of his robes.

"I heard some of what you two were plotting… You really ought to set a silencing ward down so nobody can eavesdrop."

"Blimey," Ron said going pale.

Hermione grimaced. "I should've thought of that," she agreed.

Harry swept his gaze over the both of them. "What are you trying to brew?"

Neither Gryffindor would answer him.

Stepping closer, Harry saw the diagrams in the book and, reading the name upside-down, he frowned. He walked to peer over Hermione's shoulder, reading the long ingredient list. "Polyjuice Potion? That's illegal to use if you aren't an undercover Auror."

Ron's ears had turned pink. "But—" He started.

What they had planned to do clicked together in Harry's head like a puzzle coming together. "_Why_ didn't you just _ask_ me whether or not Malfoy was the culprit instead of wasting your time brewing a potion that requires you to steal Restricted ingredients from Professor Snape's storeroom?" Harry directed at Hermione sourly.

"Well…" Hermione's cheeks turned a bit pink as well and she shut the book, called _Most Potente Potions_ book, one Harry had seen open on Snape's lab table on occasion at Spinner's End.

"Because we didn't think you'd _tell_ us, especially seeing how you're Malfoy's bosom buddy!" Ron yelled.

"Draco Malfoy is a prejudiced bigot, but he's as curious to know who's behind the attacks as anyone else." Harry sighed, remembering exactly who had asked the most questions of him. "Nobody in my house knows what Petrified Mrs. Norris or who ordered whatever-it-was to do it, not even me. Professor Snape believes that no one in this school is capable of opening the Chamber of Secrets, as they'd have to be a Parselmouth to do it."

"Oh," Hermione said with a thoughtful frown.

"So, what do we do now?" Ron asked with a disheartened sigh.

A bell tolled distantly.

"I have to go. Write me later, would you? If you have any more questions, please ask me." At Hermione's nod, Harry took off as his stomach began to growl something fierce. He shut the door and took a quiet breath. He felt tremors running clear down the tips of his suddenly icy fingers. Harry didn't want to think about it, but he had a feeling he was very close to losing their friendship. If they knew he was a Parselmouth… If anybody found out he was a Parselmouth outside of his own House… They would all think what Mr. Filch already believed.

When he entered the Great Hall, Harry sat next to Theodore who grinned at him. Draco came in not long after food had appeared on their plates taking a seat across from Harry, while Crabbe and Goyle sat on either side of Draco. Right away, Harry could tell that Draco was in a foul mood by the scowl on his face. "That man is a brainless divvy, Harry. You _don't_ _ever_ give a healthy person Pepper-Up potion. Everyone knows that. My _father_ is going to hear about his ineptitude! Whoever heard of a full-grown wizard unable to perform a Pixie Capture Charm?"

Harry took a deep gulp of his pumpkin juice and smiled. "Oh, I _hope_ he can get Lockhart kicked out. The man constantly jumps me in the hall, insisting on telling me all sorts of useless 'celebrity' advice I don't want."

"It's too bad he's not a Muggle-born, right?" Draco agreed loudly. "I'm sure the Heir of Slytherin would have taken care of him _straight away_."

The youngest Weasley dropped her books nearby with a loud squeak. Harry thought Ginny was looking rather pale and hoped she wasn't coming down with something.

"Anyway, I'll have a chance to tell Father in person. He's coming to our Quidditch match on Saturday." Draco looked a little preoccupied as he cut into his steak.

"Doesn't he know you aren't playing?"

"I wanted him to come anyway."

Harry grinned at him.

"Don't smirk at me like that," Draco groused.

"If I haven't caught the Snitch in the first thirty minutes, why don't we switch out so you can have a go?"

"You'd do that... for me?"

"Of course! Come on, you're great on a broom; I'm just better." Harry's face contorted into horror when he realized what he said and then he dropped his head into his hands. "Ughhhhh."

Laughter burst from Draco, Crabbe and Goyle with him though they didn't seem too sure as to why Draco was laughing.

"_Please_ get rid of Lockhart. I'm beginning to _sound_ like the bleeding idiot!"

Draco hit his goblet against the table, face red as he choked on peals of laughter.

"If it's a small concession, Harry," Sally-Anne said next to him.

Harry blinked at her, wondering where the first year, Lucretia Moss, had gone. "Er… yes?" It wasn't the first time Sally-Anne had snuck up on him.

"At least it's the truth. The only thing that Lockhart can do is look pretty and talk big. Malfoy's better on a broom than the Gryffindor's Seeker, Midgeon, but you're _brilliant_. I bet you could play for any of the International Quidditch Teams if you wanted."

Draco's giggling was still carrying on the other side of the table. "To Harry Potter: Gilderoy Lockhart's protégé. Or should we call him your fairy godfather?" At that, Crabbe and Goyle laughed exceptionally hard. In Magical Fairy Tales, the fairies were always bad business; even good ones were hopelessly clumsy and got in the way of the protagonist's goals.

"Oh shove it!" He shot a glare at Draco, whose laughter became full-throated. Harry turned a scowl to Sally-Anne. "Thanks, but I don't want to play professionally with the odds of someone trying to kill me so high."

She smiled back.

"I think that's reasonable justification to not play Quidditch at all," Theodore said wisely on the other side of Harry.

Harry had no idea how prescient his own words would turn out to be.

* * *

Early the next day, Harry woke up and lay for a while thinking about the Quidditch match that would occur later that morning. He was nervous, especially since he'd be Seeking in front of Draco's very powerful and highly influential father. Harry almost wished that he had taken the new broom from Draco. But always memories of how hard Draco pushed himself to do better, even on Reserve changed Harry's mind. Besides, Draco was having so much _fun_ on the Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Harry wouldn't spoil that just because he felt anxious about the upcoming match.

Knowing that it was likely to rain, Harry forwent his ordinary glasses and put on the Glaxxes Draco had given to him last year. His four other roommates were already gone; he wondered where they went only for a moment until he remembered Draco telling him how they were going all out for Slytherin Team Spirit this match since the rest of the school was so heavily against them. He Switched into his clean Slytherin Quidditch robes and headed downstairs. With the rest of his team, Harry left the Slytherin common room with its windows displaying underwater vistas and went upstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast, even though his insides churned. Not seeing any of his year-mates, Harry ate so his teammates wouldn't pester him, and then followed the older Slytherins down the special corridors from Hogwarts castle to the Slytherin Team's locker room around ten-thirty. By eleven, the stands would be filling up with his schoolmates and professors.

Harry with the rest of his team padded up. The last thing Harry did was tap the Glaxxes, and they transformed into a neat, transparent pair of wrap-arounds that fit Harry's face snugly. Flint gave them a rough run-through of their strategy, "Hit them _hard_ and _fast_." Flint turned to the smaller Beater. "Derrick, you're to make sure a Bludger doesn't knock Harry off his broom while he's Seeking. Everyone else understand their role? Good."

Flint started the very same chant as last year, and Harry eagerly joined in. He loved how it made his blood pump banishing any remaining shred of anxiety he might have.

The crowd didn't cheer for the Slytherins until they saw Harry trailing after the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Most of the crowd was wearing burgundy and gold again, Gryffindor's colors. One stand was covered completely with emerald green and filled with students holding sticks up connected to silver fabric, which shimmered as if it might have scales. Harry stared at the enormous Slytherin snake. Someone at the very end was operating the mouth so it opened to reveal wickedly curved teeth and a flapping tongue.

Madam Hooch asked the Team Captains to shake hands; Harry tried not to laugh when the both of them gripped their hands tightly and glared at one another as if they were arm-wrestling, but a snicker slipped through his lips anyway. Tall, heavyset Peregrine Derrick beside him didn't even notice.

"On my whistle," Madam Hooch said, "Three… two… one…"

A sharp tone pierced through the crowd's excited screaming, and Madam Hooch tossed up the Quaffle. All fourteen players rose towards the leaden sky; it hadn't started to rain yet, but it looked ready to. Harry pierced the sky with his Nimbus Two Thousand, eyes wide open to anything that might sparkle or glint. The Glaxxes already helped to keep him from needing to blink in the blustery wind.

The crowd roared from the action of the Chasers and Keepers below him. Harry was too busy looking for the Snitch to watch the fight for the Quaffle.

He squinted, eyes scanning below him, when a heavy black Bludger came whizzing at his head. Harry spun around, so narrowly avoiding it that his hair had been ruffled by its passage. Derrick came flying after.

"You alright, Scarhead?" Derrick teased. Harry's older Slytherin team-mates had taken a liking to Draco's jibe; Harry didn't mind it, rather liking the irreverence. With a WHACK Derrick slammed the Bludger back towards the Gryffindor side.

Against Harry's expectations, the Bludger changed direction midair and shot straight for him again, dodging past Derrick's club.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and Derrick hit it again towards a Gryffindor Chaser. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head. Even on his fast broom, Derrick didn't have nearly the dexterity to hit the Bludger, which was dodging all attempts to be dissuaded from attacking Harry.

Harry sorely regretted not taking Draco's broom now as he zoomed towards the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Harry barely had a moment to think of why the Bludger was concentrating on _him_ of all people.

The Bludger's job was to unseat as many players as possible… Was it jinxed?

Lucian Bole, the other Slytherin Beater, was waiting on the other end of pitch. Harry ducked below his awaiting arm. With a loud WHACK, the Bludger was hit and knocked off-course. "I think you have a Rogue Bludger, Scarhead!" He hollered as he watched it turn itself around. "FLY!"

As Harry dove for the open space around the pitch where the supports for the Quidditch stands were buried, he felt rain begin to splatter against his back and saw it simply bead off his Glaxxes like water on the surface of a well-waxed car.

The announcer's voice yelled, "Another goal for Slytherin, those sneaky, cheating louts—Professor, I'm telling it like it is!" The voice became bored and despondent, "Slytherin leads, sixty points to zero—"

The rest of his team was doing their job; only Harry had the bad luck of getting chased by a Rogue Bludger, a freak occurrence. He decided he ought to do his part too. Shooting up into the air, despite the Bludger whistling behind him, Harry ignored the jeers from the crowd as they noticed the abnormal behavior of the round, hard leather ball.

The rain was falling more heavily, soaking Harry's robes. He remembered the water-repellant Quidditch robes Barnaby Rosier had showed him and regretted not buying them; it was obvious it shaved a tick from his reaction time as it added weight. He looped and swooped, spiraled and rolled, zigged and zagged all while he searched for the elusive Snitch. Slightly dizzy, Harry nevertheless kept himself sharp as he hung upside down after narrowly avoiding the Bludger again.

He could hear laughter from the crowd now; Harry imagined how they would have fared in his position. The thought of them getting knocked off their brooms ten minutes ago made him grin wickedly. They probably wouldn't have noticed that the Rogue Bludger, like Derrick, couldn't change direction very quickly. As such, Harry began to do a rollercoaster sort of flying around the stadium, even as the rain washed everything out in grey.

A whistling by Harry's ear told him he'd just avoided getting hit; he flipped over and sped in the opposite direction.

And then he saw it; Harry did a little twirl in the air to dodge the Bludger. He dove straight for the Golden Snitch.

The Gryffindor Seeker, having kept a close eye on Harry, immediately followed.

WHAM!

Harry's path had been too straight to avoid the Rogue Bludger as it slammed through his right elbow. Harry could feel his arm break, but instead of giving in to the daze of intense pain Harry tucked the useless arm against him and tightened his legs on his broom. This time he twisted and snaked around imaginary obstacles, predicting where the Golden Snitch would flutter off to.

The Bludger came back at his face, but Harry calmly dodged it. One thought was in his mind: get to the Snitch.

As the Snitch headed straight for the Gryffindor Seeker, Eloise Midgeon, Harry dove for her.

She froze with wide eyes as she saw Harry descend upon her, but not—apparently—the Snitch given the grey haze of rain all around them. She careened out of the way, and Harry's remaining hand closed around the cold wet Snitch.

_Great idea_, Harry thought to himself as his broomstick pointed straight to the ground without a free hand to steer his broom stick. Harry tried not to pass out as the muddy brown pitch engulfed his field of vision.

With a splattering thud, mud sloshed around him in a great wave. He rolled off his broom, still holding the Snitch. The Bludger slammed down after him, splashing him with mud. It flew up again and aimed for Harry's head, but Harry half-flopped out of the way.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" Draco's voice rang out in the sopping rain.

The Rogue Bludger exploded in sparks.

Despite the cold mud easing the ache of his sore muscles, Harry was riddled with pain; However, his good hand still clutched the Snitch.

"We've won! They've got naught this time!" Draco said excitedly, wearing Quidditch Robes, and Harry mutely wondered how long it had taken for him to find the Snitch and whether he'd inadvertently broken his promise. The other boy attempted to help Harry up, but his grip slipped off of Harry's unbroken arm, and Harry flopped back onto the waterlogged grass with a grunt.

"You really should have called a time-out, Scarhead," Draco said with an admonishing tone, crouched next to him.

Rain continued to pelt down on them. It was on his back that Harry saw a familiar glitter of teeth among the crowd gathering around him.

"Draco! Look out," Harry moaned out, and the other boy turned quickly away from him.

Seeing Lockhart approach, Draco took out his wand and pointed it at the professor's chest. "You are going nowhere near him, you quack!"

Harry muffled a groan as he accidentally looked at the odd angle of his wand-arm. It was rather severely broken.

"Not to worry Harry! I can fix your arm straight away!" Lockhart pushed past Draco as the man was twice his size.

"No!" Harry shouted. "I'll keep it like this, thanks!"

"Doesn't know what he's saying," Lockhart said loudly towards the crowd as he pulled out his wand.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Draco's voice cried out angrily, and the man's wand went flying with a whistle.

"Ah-ah. Naughty boy. I'm only trying to _help_ dear Harry." The professor moved away from Harry to retrieve his wand from the muddy ground.

The rain was tapering off, and Harry could hear the clicking of a camera nearby. Harry croaked, "I don't want a photo of this, Creevey!" The clicking abruptly stopped.

Lockhart had picked up his wand and was turning towards Harry again, but found himself face-to-face with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. "Oh dear. I only want to perform a _simple_ charm I've used countless times—"

"He really ought to go to the infirmary, Professor," Adrian Pucey said darkly.

"Has no one ever heard of _Brackium Emendo_? Honestly, you act as if I'd poison poor Harry."

"As a matter of fact, if cast incorrectly that charm would remove every bone in his arm rather than mend it," Samantha Pitts, the Head Girl, said loudly. "Certainly you should leave this to a trained professional?"

"Oh, my dear, I've performed it hundreds of times—"

Several Slytherins raised their wands at Lockhart.

"You are _not_ to experiment on our _best_ Seeker," Marcus Flint said angrily.

Samantha Pitts had conjured up a stretcher for Harry and she cast a Levitation Charm to get him onto it, while the rest of them acted as a human shield between him and Lockhart. They were protecting him. Even with the great pain from his arm, Harry had never felt such warmth inside his chest before.

"Spectacular capture, Harry," Theodore's voice said from his left. "It's too bad about your arm."

Someone carefully pried the Snitch from Harry's hand. "You really are the best Seeker in the whole of Hogwarts," Draco murmured.

"_What are you doing_?" Harry's guardian snarled. "Put your wands away; you all know better than to threaten a professor of Hogwarts!"

Draco looked up from Harry with relief on his face.

"Thank you, Professor Snape." Lockhart's voice rang out, "As I was saying, I've used this simple charm _hundreds_ of times, so if they might move aside so I could tend to Harry now—"

"I was not aware that you were assigned as Hogwarts' Healer. I believe Madam Pomfrey still holds the position if I'm not mistaken," the Slytherin Head of House said tightly.

In severe pain, Harry smiled very weakly and then promptly fainted knowing it was safe to do so.


	9. Emergent Dark Lord

_**Author's Notes: **Looks like the Slytherins have taken notice of Harry's strength of resolve. Not just anyone would continue the match with their wand-arm busted so that they could complete their objective.  
_

* * *

When he next woke, it was dark save for a small candle, which lit the area of the table next to his bed and not much more. Harry pushed himself up and flexed the fingers of his right hand and then bent his elbow in relief. Madam Pomfrey had fixed him up in a jiffy.

He looked down at himself to see that he was no longer wearing the brilliant green robes with silver trim he'd gone out in. He reached for his glasses sitting on the table beside the candle and put them on, wondering what had woken him up.

"_Kill…. KILL…!" _The voice cried as Harry heard a grinding noise above the ceiling of the infirmary. Looking over at the watch and seeing the same squiggle, Harry shuddered and hoped that—

"Hello," a voice said sadly.

Harry started.

A house-elf's goggling, watery eyes glistened in the darkness. A single tear was rolling down his thin, pointed nose.

"_Dobby!_" Harry growled, "What do _you_ want?"

"Harry Potter came back to school," the house-elf said miserably. "Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"

Harry heaved himself out of the bed, hands going for the creature's throat. "So, it _was _you!" He hissed. "You stopped the barrier from letting me through!"

The house-elf danced out of reach, his big ears flopping. "Indeed yes, sir," Dobby said nodding vigorously. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway. Dobby had to iron his hands afterward!" The little house-elf showed Harry the loose bandages covering every single finger.

Dropping his hands in defeat, Harry breathed in deeply. That was all sorts of wrong for someone to hurt themselves even when they thought they were doing the right thing. He ran an agitated hand through his hair.

"But Dobby didn't care, sir! For he thought Harry Potter was safe, and _never,_" he squeaked, "did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!" He shook his big lopsided head to himself, rocking on his heels. "Dobby was so _shocked_ when he heard! He let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir."

Flopping back into the bed, Harry shoved his cold feet under the covers. "You nearly got me _expelled_. You better get lost or I might try to hurt you again."

The magical creature smiled faintly. "Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home." The house-elf mopped at his bulging, watering eyes with the filthy pillow case. "Harry Potter _must_ go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make him see—"

"_Your Bludger_?" Harry snarled, "It was _you_ who made that Bludger try and kill me?"

"Not kill you! Never kill you, sir!" Dobby said, eyes even wider with shock. "Dobby wants to _save_ Harry Potter's life! Better to be sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir!"

"Oh?" Harry whispered angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you want to do that."

"Ah, if only Harry Potter knew!" Dobby's eyes leaked more tears. "If he only knew what he meant to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Nanua has told Dobby of Harry Potter's kindness! How he treats her like an _equal_. Dobby could no longer deny Harry Potter the pleasure of his friends' letters." The house-elf's posture slumped. "Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers… we house-elves were treated like vermin! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir."

Not able to feel angry at Dobby now that he knew why the house-elf had done it, Harry watched the pathetic house-elf as he blew his nose with what passed for clothing. Reaching over to the table where his holster was, Harry took out his wand and cast a Cleaning and Refreshening Charm on the pillow case.

The house-elf, flinching, peered down at himself once Harry's magic had faded. He gazed down at himself, pawing the creamy-purple cotton fabric from throat to thigh with bandaged hands as if he had never seen it so clean before. "Harry... Potter... used magic... to clean... Dobby's pillowcase?" The little house-elf's eyes began to pour with tears. With sniffling squeaks, he said, "No one, no one has _ever_ cared, sir. Not about Dobby's things." Dobby shook his head. "Oh," he moaned, hiccuping. He blew his nose noisily into the neck of the pillow case. "Harry Potter must leave. _He must_. He is too good to lose."

"Dobby, tell me what's happening here. Tell me why you don't want me to stay."

Dobby froze and looked around frightfully. "_Terrible_ things that will endanger you, Harry Potter. Now that history is to repeat itself with the Chamber of Secrets open once more—" He grabbed the bed frame and slammed his head against it. "Bad Dobby! Very bad!"

"Stop that!" Harry hissed. Grabbing the little house-elf, Harry stepped out of bed to steer the creature away from the bed's frame. "Look, I already know it was opened before and that there's something in the Chamber of Secrets. It's some sort of snake, and it's Dark. You know what it is, don't you?"

Long fingers inched towards the metal frame behind Harry. "Harry Potter must not meddle in this, 'tis too dangerous—"

Mindful of the house-elf's burned hands, Harry quickly snatched his thin wrists so that Dobby could not hurt himself. "Please tell me. My best friend is a Muggle-born; she'll be first to go if the Chamber really has been opened," he implored the tiny house-elf.

"Ask no more, sir, ask no more of poor Dobby," the house-elf said shakily. "Dark deeds are planned, and Harry Potter _must not be here_ when they happen—go home!"

"_Who's done it_?" Harry said lowly, crouching at eye-level to the house-elf. "Who's opened it _now_?"

"Dobby can't sir! _Can't!_" He squealed, attempting to yank his arms from Harry's grip. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said firmly. "I have to protect my friends."

"Oh, Harry Potter is so noble to risk his _own life_!" Dobby moaned in a strange miserable happiness. "But he must save himself, he must—" Dobby froze, ears twitching.

After a few moments, Harry heard it too: footsteps coming down the passageway.

"Dobby must go!" There was a muffled whip-crack, and Harry's fists suddenly clenched air.

Harry hopped back into bed and pulled up the covers, just in time to hear two professors whispering to one another as they entered, though more than Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had walked in. They had levitated someone onto a bed, and Harry wanted to know who.

Madam Pomfrey came in not long after. Harry heard her sharp inhale of breath. "What happened?"

"Another attack," Dumbledore said, "Minerva found him on the stairs with a wrapped package beside him."

"We believe Mr. Creevey was trying to visit Potter to give him something," Professor McGonagall said with a wavering tone.

Harry felt ill at the news, but he continued to lie quite still to pretend to be asleep. Madam Pomfrey came over and pulled the covers up to his chin, likely checking to see if he'd been disturbed, and then walked back to the others. "Petrified?"

"Yes," Professor McGonagall said. "But perhaps he was able to take a photo of his attacker."

Harry heard a click, and then a poof like a mini-explosion had taken place. He could smell the burnt plastic from where he was.

"Good gracious!" Madam Pomfrey whispered. "Melted, all melted…"

"What does this _mean_, Albus?" Professor McGonagall said urgently.

"It means that it is as we feared, Minerva," Dumbledore said slowly, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

Madam Pomfrey and the other staff members gasped.

"But Albus, surely… _who_? It can't be…" There was a pregnant pause from Professor McGonagall. Harry feared that she might think it was him.

"The question is not _who_," the headmaster replied, "but _how_…"

Harry gulped. If anyone found out he was a Parselmouth, he'd be blamed. He was sure of it.

"What should I tell the staff?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"The truth. Tell them that Hogwarts is no longer safe."

Harry stared at the wall at the far end of the infirmary, faced away from the others. He was not going to be able to sleep at all after hearing _that_. Maybe he should tell Snape that he was a Parselmouth… Maybe he would get expelled and sent home.

But Harry was terrified to leave Hermione to face whatever it was that had Petrified both Colin Creevey and Mrs. Norris.

* * *

Harry woke up on Sunday morning with the infirmary blazing with winter sunlight. He sat up quickly and looked over at Creevey's bed, but it had been blocked from view by framed curtains.

Seeing that Harry was awake, Madam Pomfrey came over quickly with a breakfast tray. She took his arm and flexed his elbow twice. "All in order, all thanks to your teammates bringing you straight here! Samantha told me all about Professor Lockhart's plan to mend your arm. You would have spent the night in pain from having to regrow bones had he tried! Though you spent the night anyway after that Rogue Bludger exhausted you, you poor dear." Madam Pomfrey fussed over him and set a pile of folded robes on the foot of his bed. "When you've finished eating, you may go. Your friends brought you this change of clothes yesterday and that is also for you." She pointed out the brown-paper-wrapped flat package lying on the table next to the bed.

"Thanks," Harry said softly as she walked around the framed curtains. He didn't blame her for not telling him about Colin Creevey's Petrification.

Spooning up the porridge, Harry ate his meal quickly. Tearing open the package, he inspected the black-framed parchment-sized color photograph of Draco and him flying over the pitch, ribbing each other good-naturedly. Harry Switched his clothes and quickly hurried off to the Slytherin common room with Creevey's best effort tucked under his arm. He needed to tell _someone_ of what he learned, needed to figure this out before anyone else was Petrified or worse...

"Theo!" Harry said when he stepped down the stairs into the murky green atmosphere of the common room.

"Harry, glad to see you out of the infirmary! Excellent flying yesterday; Slytherin has taken the lead for the Quidditch Cup with our win yesterday, all thanks to you!" Theodore said, grasping his shoulders with unfeigned camaraderie.

"_Listen_, someone's opened the Chamber of Secrets," Harry hissed at him, looking around uneasily. "A first year Gryffindor was found Petrified last night in the halls."

"_Oh_," Theodore said quietly. "But they were… a Muggle-born, weren't they?"

"That doesn't make it right!" Harry all but thundered at his year-mate. Knocking the hands away, he stormed up the stairs to his dormitory. He placed the framed photo face-down on his desk and plucked up a quill to pen a more forthcoming letter he owed Hermione.

Draco was reading on his bed, while Crabbe and Goyle giggled at the pictures in Theodore's well-loved _Mortar and Pestle_ magazine.

Pulling out a blank piece of parchment, Harry hunched over it protectively as he began to write. In the letter, Harry told Hermione why it had taken him so long to respond to her over the summer: Dobby the house-elf.

_First a house-elf named Dobby framed me for using Underage Magic to try to get me expelled, but the Official Warning was struck out because there was a witness who heard him Apparate. Dobby confessed last night that he also made the barrier impassable for Ron and me to prevent me from attending Hogwarts. And just yesterday that blighter set a Rogue Bludger on me all because he'd rather I be 'sent home grievously injured' instead of letting me face whatever horror may be awaiting me in the Chamber of Secrets. That house-elf is terrified that I'm going to die, Hermione, and I want to know who's behind it, just as much as you do. All I know is that the Chamber of Secrets holds a Dark serpent of some kind that can Petrify others._

Harry then incorporated everything Dobby had told him about the Chamber of Secrets. Harry, however, left out that he'd heard the voice again before Creevey had been brought into the infirmary and also before Mrs. Norris had been found Petrified. His research had proved fruitless so far; he had yet to discover a potion or spell that would grant the drinker or caster temporary Parselmouth ability.

_Be careful!_ He wrote last in a hurried scrawl at the bottom of the parchment.

"Writing to your girlfriend again, Harry?" Draco said over his shoulder.

Harry grabbed the blotter and quickly pressed it all over the parchment so he didn't have to wait to dry before folding it. He folded the thick leaf into thirds and stuffed it into the envelope. "_No_," Harry growled, "I don't have a girlfriend."

"One day, after you've married that Granger girl and had brats, I'll tease you _mercilessly_ about those long-winded love letters you sent her. I bet you could even compile the exchanges—the ones you haven't burned to ashes, of course—bind them into a book, and sell it for a load of Galleons."

Harry sealed the letter with wax and imprinted the school seal onto it. He flipped it over and wrote out Hermione's name. If Draco wanted to believe that Harry was doing something so wasteful with his time, so be it. It was better than having to explain why Harry cared about who the monster from the Chamber of Secrets had Petrified: a Kneazle and a Muggle-born.

"Whenever you want to talk about your girl troubles, come see me," the deceptively friendly Draco said after Harry grabbed his cloak.

Pulling the thick cloak around his shoulders to stay warm, Harry ran down the dormitory stairs. In the common room, Theodore was telling _everyone_ within hearing distance that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and that a Muggle-born had been Petrified. A silence descended when Harry stepped out of the archway at the bottom of the stairs.

"Theo, will you go with me to the owlery?"

Theodore flashed a big grin at everyone before he answered him. "Certainly, Harry!"

They swept down several corridors together and climbed staircase after staircase. When they finally ascended the steps to the owlery, Harry realized he'd been so lost in thought about what he was going to do that they'd traversed the distance without a word exchanged between them.

Harry handed the letter to Hedwig. "Make sure _no one_ tampers with it."

She gave him a dirty look.

"Sorry… It's just _very_ important that Hermione gets this," Harry whispered, brushing the soft downy feathers of her head.

Hedwig bobbed against his hand, hooting softly.

"Thanks." Smiling, he lightly brushed her feather for several quiet moments as she hooted gently. Then she turned and disappeared through the open window.

"There's no favorites with you is there Harry?" Theodore commented offhandedly once Harry's owl had flown out of sight.

Turning, Harry frowned at his friend. "What?"

"Parkinson was complaining that you don't reward your more loyal subjects with a favored position. I haven't told her yet that you favor well-thought out gifts and pleasant company," he said with a wink.

"My_… what_?" Harry said, narrowing his eyes at Theodore. "What do you mean my 'subjects'?"

Theodore grinned at him expectantly and took a bow. "Master, we are at your service," his roommate said to the floor.

Harry blinked slowly, wondering if he was asleep. When the punch of adrenaline didn't wake him, Harry had a dizzying revelation. "You… you think that _I've_ been opening the Chamber. You believe that _I'm_ the Heir…" His hands began to shake.

"No worries. No one will snitch on you, my liege."

"I'm not opening it, you twit! Have you been _telling_ our housemates that?"

Theodore didn't answer as he straightened from the bow and smiled.

Trying to quell his panic, Harry paced inside the smelly, drafty owlery. "_Someone_ is trying to kill me, Theo, using whatever's in the Chamber to do it."

"Since you can speak Parseltongue, you can tell Slytherin's basilisk to do whatever you want, milord," Theodore responded calmly.

Having no idea what a basilisk was, Harry stopped and turned to stare at Theodore. Vaguely, Harry remembered that the Slytherin girls had mentioned Salazar breeding snakes… "Is that what the squiggle on the watch represented?"

Theodore said, "You _heard _a voice hungering for blood, meaning that it had to be a snake or serpent of some kind since I only heard soft hissing. A serpent's shadow that's reduced to a squiggle means that one should not approach it. Da says only baslisks, nagas, and medusae would be _that _dangerous… But of course, your Grace already knew it was a basilisk…"

"Don't call me that," Harry snapped, head aching.

"I will address you as your brilliance and glory deserves, your Grace," Theodore said, bowing once again.

Realizing that Theodore wasn't going to believe that he _hadn't_ opened the Chamber of Secrets, Harry went downstairs to lunch. He knew he should tell a trusted adult about the creature, but he also didn't want anyone to know he was a Parselmouth. As he harshly chewed on a bread roll, Harry worked through what he already knew. The headmaster said that the Chamber of Secrets was open again when he saw Colin Creevey, and it didn't particularly matter to him _who _was doing it but _how_. Did that mean that the headmaster already knew a basilisk was inside of the Chamber of Secrets, but didn't know how it was getting out? Did he already know that Harry was a Parselmouth? Harry frowned.

"Your excellency, have you had this treacle tart?"

Harry shot a look of intense loathing at the smiling Theodore and went back to eating his blood pudding. Telling the other Slytherin to stop had only made Theodore use 'Your Grace' more frequently, though so far he called Harry by his first name by those not of Slytherin.

By evening, all of Harry's year-mates were calling him, 'your Grace'. When Harry aborted an attempt to yank out his wand on Draco's smirking face, it was clear his composure was cracking. He excused himself and went to bed, unable to sleep.

By Monday morning, the whole school knew that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as still as death in the infirmary. The air among the other houses was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they went alone.

Ignoring his housemates' constant attempts to pull him into conversation, Harry opened the letter Hermione had written him. In it, she reported that everyone believed that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, which she thought was completely ridiculous and wildly speculative.

_It's just because they believe that you were annoyed by Colin Creevey and set whatever was in the Chamber of Secrets on him! They know nothing about that house-elf desperately trying to send you away from the danger within Hogwarts. Why haven't you told everyone?_

Harry snorted lightly. Who would believe that a house-elf who was not sworn to serve Harry was trying to rescue him from some horrible fate? Harry had _just _found out that his housemates believed he was the Heir of Slytherin and any attempt to change his housemates' minds had so far failed. After reading that she would follow up on the clues he'd found, Harry burned the letter. He poked his food with a fork, not feeling very hungry. Everyone at the Slytherin table was treating him extra pleasantly. Harry wished meals weren't mandatory to attend. He wanted to sit in an abandoned classroom and pretend that none of this was happening to him back when life was simple and he didn't have to constantly think if someone's intentions were not what they appeared.

* * *

Hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Theodore's pockets were full of wizard money from the sales. "It's all a matter of cutting deals with trustworthy individuals from other Houses," Harry's friend said. "They earn a cut; you sell more. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

That Saturday, Harry bowed out for playing in the Slytheirn match against Ravenclaw, not wanting to tempt Dobby to 'grievously injure' him. When Harry settled onto the bench anticipating the match, Harry didn't miss that every prefect, plus Head Girl Pitts and Head Boy Grimmet, were in the stands with him, watching everything but the match. Harry had hoped he would be able to sit with Hermione, but his housemates had crowded everyone else out. There wasn't even standing room. Draco caught the Snitch thirty minutes in with the final score of 190 to 30.

Potions the following Thursday ended terribly. Someone had thrown a firecracker into Goyle's cauldron and splashed Swelling Solution onto all the Slytherin boys and some of the girls. Even a few Gryffindors were hit.

Harry's arm and jaw had swelled to an enormous size. He'd been pushed forward by Crabbe and Goyle to be first in line to get a swig of the antidote, even though his swelling was not nearly as great as Goyle's.

"If I find out who threw this," Professor Snape had whispered after everyone who'd been afflicted were back to normal, eyeing the Gryffindors who hadn't been splashed. "I shall _make certain_ that person is expelled."

Harry saw that Ron and Hermione were among those that had been unaffected and that Ron's ears were bright red.

He didn't bother to ask them if they were up to something because obviously they were and they weren't telling him. He wondered if they suspected him as well.

By early December, Harry was flagging. The prospect of Christmas didn't even raise his spirits. Professor Snape didn't bother to ask whether Harry was staying at Hogwarts over the break; he already knew Harry's preference, though Harry wondered if it might be safer to hunker down at Spinner's End. Harry was surprised to see that most of his year-mates had decided to stay behind as well; Sally-Anne, Greengrass, Bulstrode, and Theodore had to stay with their parents, no ifs or buts about it.

The following week, however, the Slytherins were all abuzz about a school-wide Dueling Club that had recently been started. Of course, each dueling session was separated by year to keep the numbers down, Harry supposed. Nevertheless, everyone, but Harry, seemed excited about them. Harry found it difficult to concentrate on anything, school-related or not. His appetite was lacking and he couldn't stop the tumbling thoughts racing around his mind when he tried to sleep.

At breakfast, Harry received another letter from Hermione—maybe, she hadn't decided he was the Heir of Slytherin, Harry thought with relief—detailing how she and Ron had discovered an award in the Trophy Room dating back to fifty years ago, given to a student by the name of T. M. Riddle for Special Services to the school, and _that_ award must have had something to do with the Chamber of Secrets being opened. Hermione noted dryly that the official school records reported no such incident of the Chamber being opened, only that a nameless student had been expelled and this mysterious T. M. Riddle had been awarded the Silver Shield in a celebratory ceremony.

Harry wasn't sure what the relevance was, but wrote a thank-you note to her for the information anyway.

Tuesday night, Harry and his year-mates gathered in a knot in the Great Hall precisely at eight o'clock. The dining tables had been removed. The Bewitched sky was velvet black.

The dueling stage was a familiar sight, since Professor Snape had presided over another two dueling sessions in the Slytherin common room monthly since the first one in September; Harry had won against Draco every time.

"You think Professor Snape started the club?" Parkinson asked.

"He would have said something," Theodore responded.

"As long as it's not—" Draco began and then made a very derisive snort, when their DADA professor strutted into the Great Hall.

Gilderoy Lockhart, resplendent in robes of deep plum and light blue, stepped onto the stage with a dramatic flourish. Harry was appalled to hear sighs of adulation within the Hall. "Gather round!" Lockhart waved an arm for silence, "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?" He stopped in the center stage with a bright grin.

"Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted permission to start this little dueling club to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves—as I myself have done on countless occasions. For full details, see my published works!" The attention-loving adult posed. "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, his white teeth gleaming. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration."

"_A little bit_? Professor Snape's going to wipe the floor with him," Draco sneered, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry couldn't agree more as they watched their Head of House with a neutral expression glide onto the stage.

"Now, I don't want any of you to worry—you'll still have your Potions professor when I'm through with him! Never fear!"

Snape's upper lip was curling. The smiling Professor Lockhart didn't seem to notice that Professor Snape had the look of someone who relished the idea of humiliating him.

Harry snickered softly, imagining their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's crushing defeat. He ignored the looks from the Slytherins around him.

Lockhart described how to duel and demonstrated the bow, twirling his wand fancily. "Now, on the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill of course."

"No, but I bet'll hurt," Harry murmured. His fellow Slytherins giggled and sniggered around him.

After the count, it had taken a mere moment for Professor Snape to disarm Lockhart with very little effort.

Lockhart had been sent flying by the Disarming Charm. He landed quite hard on the floor behind the stage. The inept professor got unsteadily to his feet. His wavy hair stood on end. "There you have it! Excellent form, Professor Snape. A great idea to show them that Disarming Charm. As you can see, I've lost my wand—thank you, Miss Brown."

The Gryffindor girl looked like she was about to faint from ecstasy.

"But if you don't mind my saying, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy—however, I thought it was instructive to let them see it." Who was the nutter trying to convince? Himself?

"It would be more prudent to show them how to block unfriendly spells, professor," Professor Snape said with a cordial tone, though his face was straining with the effort not to glare at Lockhart.

"An _excellent_ suggestion, Professor Snape!"

Professor Snape grimaced, keeping his wand pointed to the ground in his non-wand hand. Harry thought it likely that the adult did that to prevent him from hexing the nitwit 'accidentally'.

"Let's have a volunteer pair… Potter and…" Harry winced. Why was it always _him_? "Weasley! How about you? Come on then!" Lockhart gestured for the both of them to get on stage.

"Weasley's wand causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending Potter to the infirmary in a matchbox," Professor Snape said dryly. "Might I suggest another from my house?"

Harry took the steps up onto the opposite end of the stage, while Lockhart waited.

"Malfoy, perhaps?" Harry's guardian was also Draco's godfather. Harry thought it was a scheme to try to give Draco another chance to beat him. Harry wouldn't allow Draco to win though. Not when losing meant that Draco could use his favorite curse word again.

Lockhart nodded. "Fair enough!"

Snape gestured for Draco to get on stage.

Taking a deep breath, Harry unholstered his wand. So far, he'd beaten Draco three out of three times, but that didn't mean he could get careless.

"Good luck, Harry," Lockhart said, moving to stand at the end of the stage.

Harry was already focused on the coming duel.

"Wands at the ready!" Their DADA professor shouted.

Harry and Draco, as they had done several times before, saluted one another without bowing and traveled back to opposite ends of the stage.

"When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent—_only_ to disarm him!"

Lockhart counted.

As Harry had been expecting, Draco began to cast "_Rictusempra!_" at two, so Harry summoned a shield with a spell and a casual flick of his wand to absorb the attack and sent a Jelly-Legs Curse back. Draco was hit straight on, but he quickly cast a counter-curse over his legs.

"_I SAID DISARM ONLY!_" Lockhart shouted in alarm.

Harry cast a Wheezing Hex, but Draco blocked that and sent a Tap-Dancing Curse at Harry's feet. Harry cast the counter-curse and stumbled as he regained his balance, but not before Draco had cried out, "_Serpensortia!_"

It was not a spell Harry had seen before. The end of Draco's wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself ready to strike.

The crowd around the stage backed away, screaming.

"Don't move, Potter," Professor Snape said casually, clearly finding Harry's predicament amusing. "I'll get rid of it."

Harry stood motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake that made his watch go cold against his forearm. He _wanted_ to call it on Draco, but then everyone—

"Allow me!" came Lockhart's shout. He brandished his wand at the snake and yelled "_Alarte Ascendare!_" Instead of vanishing, the snake flew ten feet into the air. It fell back to the floor with a loud SMACK.

Enraged and disoriented, it slithered straight towards the nearest student—a Hufflepuff—and raised itself again. "_I'll get you for that!"_ It hissed furiously, poised to attack.

Why wasn't somebody doing _something_ about it!? Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of deciding to do it. He shouted at the snake, "Leave him alone!"

The snake as Harry expected slumped to the ground, docile as a thick water house. Its beady eyes were on Harry now. He smiled. He knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though he couldn't have explained why he knew that.

He looked up at the Hufflepuff; the hostile look on his face was _not_ what Harry was expecting for saving the boy from a visit to Madam Pomfrey.

"What do you think you're playing at?!" The Hufflepuff shouted, pointing at Harry angrily.

"_Vipera Evanesca!"_ Professor Snape said hollowly, vanishing the Dark creature from their midst in a crackle of fire.

Harry looked around and saw that only his fellow Slytherins seemed pleased. Professor Snape looked extremely unnerved. Through the haze of panic, Harry only then remembered that his guardian had vouched for his innocence because Harry _wasn't_ a Parselmouth. Why had he impulsively saved the Hufflepuff from a little pain? Now, everyone... Harry could not pinpoint his best friend, Hermione Granger, in the blurring sea of faces turned to him with horror and disgust. He could not see what she felt about her discovery.

Ominous muttering was closing in all around Harry now, and someone pulled on his robes. "Come on," Draco said near his ear, "Let's go."

Draco steered him towards the exit; Harry noticed how everyone outside of the Slytherin House drew away as if they might catch something. His year-mates closed in around him.

Taking the steps down to the dungeons, Harry's queasiness had only intensified. Soon enough they were in the common room and Harry was pushed into a high-backed chair.

"Did you see their faces!" Theodore crowed.

"Let them simmer on the thought of their _hero_ being a Parselmouth!" Parkinson preened.

Harry pressed his face into his hands as they gloated and sneered with excitement and pleasure at his Parselmouth ability finally being outed. Draco had done this to him. Harry wondered how long Draco had planned for a public performance of Parseltongue.

A light hand touched his shoulder and removed itself. "Professor Snape is furious, Potter," Prefect Wynch said. "Why didn't you tell him about your ability?"

Confused, Harry looked up. "Because I haven't been opening the Chamber of Secrets!"

The brown-eyed prefect blinked as did the older Slytherins around him as if the idea of Harry's innocence had never occurred to them.

"Potter, in my office. _Now!_" Professor Snape snarled from behind. "The rest of you had better go to your rooms before I assign you all _detention_!" He bellowed.

The entire common room cleared out at the furious command.

Harry heard Snape's office door slam open. He stood up slowly and walked to whatever fate awaited him, keenly missing Prefect Gilbert's comforting presence. But he was twelve now, not eleven, and Snape was his legal guardian. He could be trusted not to do something horrible to Harry... right?

When Harry entered the office, Snape had already yanked three different tomes from his shelf and had left them open on the desk behind him. The adult was skimming a fourth large book in his hands, filled with parchment in his slanted, sharp handwriting. Without looking behind him, Professor Snape waved his wand. His office door slammed shut with a BANG.

Harry jumped, stiffly standing there. His fingers were cold. He took a deep breath as his heart beat frantically in his chest. The air was chilled and musty in Snape's House office.

Snape spread his fingers over the page he was on and looked up sharply, eyeing Harry with a startlingly shrewd expression. "How is it… that you managed to keep this ability hidden from me?"

"I'm—I'm sorry, sir." Harry stared at the ground. "Before Mrs. Norris' Petrification, I thought you knew. I thought for certain that one of the prefects told you last year."

"_Last year? _Every... single… child... _in my house_ has **known** since **_last year_**?" Harry's guardian hissed in alarm.

Harry sucked in a breath. "Probably," he said, eyes trained on the Oriental rug beneath his wizard-made trainers.

Snape studied Harry with intense scrutiny. Harry fidgeted, wondering if he was going to get expelled, wondered what he could possibly say about keeping it a secret from his guardian that wouldn't sound guilty.

"Harry, listen to me very closely. If you are the one opening the Chamber – Silence—" Snape warned when Harry opened his mouth. "Understand that if you continue to do so, Hogwarts will be closed. If that is your wish, then there's nothing I can say to change your mind. Bear in mind the consequences for doing so. If you are found out, you will spend the rest of your life in Azkaban," Snape paused as Harry grew nauseated.

He looked at the floor. Did no one think he was innocent?

"However, I highly doubt that you are the culprit," came a dry tone. "After all, what benefit is there for you, a Muggle-raised wizard, to closing one of the most prestigious academies of magic?"

Harry felt the color somewhat return to his face in relief. "None, sir. I love learning magic and I wouldn't want Hogwarts to close." Professor Snape was still giving him an unreadable expression. "What?"

"Unfortunately, all known evidence presently supports what your housemates believe."

"_What_?" Harry gasped out. "But I _haven't. _I don't want a basilisk attacking the other students! And I've told Theodore I haven't! But he's gone and rallied the whole house anyway," he said, clutching his robes. "I… I don't know what to do, sir. Before I realized what was happening, I was being idolized —and then I figured out _why_ the other students from different Houses were treating me differently—but I don't want Hogwarts to close, sir! And I don't want anybody else to get hurt…"

Snape's tense demeanor softened slightly. "Then I shall do what I can. From now on, if you hear the basilisk you are to find me as soon as possible. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Harry looked up warily. "Er… Sir. How am I going to convince everyone that I'm _not_ the Heir of Slytherin?"

"You won't, until there is irrefutable proof that you aren't," Snape said evenly, "We'll discuss this further at a later date." He shoved the thick books aside and sat down with a scowl. "Go," he snapped when Harry continued to stand there awkwardly.

"Yes, sir." Leaving quickly, Harry hardly wanted to go back to his dormitory, but he did anyway, climbing the steps of the right staircase sluggishly. At the sixth door, Harry pushed it open.

Not seeing anyone, Harry walked in and closed the door behind him in the torchlight.

When Harry turned back around, his roommates were standing around him in a semi-circle. Startled, Harry backpedaled into the door.

"What'd he say?" Draco demanded.

"He's not going to send you away, is he, your Grace?" Theodore asked.

Crabbe and Goyle were both looking intently at Harry as well.

"You are a _bastard_, Draco! You _knew_ Professor Snape wasn't aware I was a Parselmouth! Why'd you have to go and summon a snake?"

"I thought you were going to keep mum and lose the duel. But you just couldn't bear the thought of _losing_ could you, Harry?" Draco smiled like a shark. "You'll be a great Dark Lord yet."

Harry's face flushed with fury, fingers digging into his robes. "You're mad! That Hufflepuff was about to be attacked because of that dim-witted Lockhart, and you're suggesting that it was my _pride_ that caused me to speak up?!"

"It comes from the same place, Harry. Your particular complex won't allow harm to befall those around you if the power to protect them resides within you," Draco smirked at him with bright eyes. He stepped closer. "Tell me, your Grace. After you purge the school of foul blood and weaklings, what do you plan to do next?"

"I'm not _planning_ anything, Draco." Harry forced himself to push past his roommate, shedding his robes and pulling on his night clothes. "I'm going to sleep." He sunk onto his bed and yanked the curtains shut around him, plunging Harry into darkness.

He curled up snugly and took several quiet, tight breaths.

Harry didn't know what to do. He, simply put, was terrified.


	10. An Attempt at Damage Control

_**Author's notes: **So... Harry's in a bit of a pickle. Is he going to take it quietly? Nope._

* * *

At the crack of dawn the next morning Harry woke from a nightmare where he was emitting green flashes from his wand. The people, who had been struck, dropped like flies around him, while Harry had _laughed_. He pulled back the curtains, shivering. A blizzard raged outside.

Not caring that it was barely four in the morning or that he'd slept little to nothing, Harry cleaned himself up and dressed. He left down the stairs and into the empty common room, waving halfheartedly at the black window in case Ra-ee-ahtri was watching. He left through the portrait hole and wandered down the corridor to the Great Hall, needing to be alone for a bit.

The castle was darker than it usually was because of the thick, swirling grey at every window. It seemed to justify his mood.

When Harry entered the Great Hall, there were a few students studying or reading at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, but none of them were eating. In a few moments, they were looking at Harry suspiciously. He took a seat at the empty Slytherin long table.

"So anyway," a Hufflepuff girl continued, not bothering to keep her voice down, "I heard Ernie tell Justin this morning in the common room to hide in the dormitory. Poor guy's traumatized, didn't sleep one wink last night after Potter egged that snake on. We all know Potter's got Justin marked as his next victim, since he's a Muggle-born and all."

"Then you agree with Ernie, Freya?" A girl with blonde pigtails said anxiously. Harry recognized her since they'd been Sorted the same year.

"Hannah, Potter's a Parselmouth," the other Hufflepuff said as if the other girl was stupid, "Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark Wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent wizard or witch who could talk to snakes?"

The pigtails swished over her shoulders as Hannah shook her head hard. "Nnh-nnh."

"You know, Merlin was a Parselmouth and history tells that he wasn't so bad. In fact, I'd say he was one of the greatest wizards of all time," a dark-haired Ravenclaw girl drawled next to them wearing a prefect badge. "And then there's the medical genius Paracelsus, the forefather of Pscyh-Healing, who wrote the first book about Parseltongue; before then, no one knew you could talk to snakes, other than Parselmouths, of course."

"Dresden, for every good Parselmouth I could name ten that are pure evil. Those who speak Parseltongue usually become so cold-blooded that they prefer the company of snakes over their own kind," Freya's eyes flicked to Harry, who pretended not to hear them.

Other students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw flocked towards the gossiping group, murmuring and glancing at Harry with revulsion and distrust.

"We were warned. Didn't you hear Mr. Filch ranting about his Kneazle to anyone who'd listen after the first attack? I wonder what he knew about Potter that we didn't. I bet it's why Mrs. Norris was attacked," a Ravenclaw boy said next to them.

"Yes, Awdry, we all saw Colin Creevey take photos of Harry Potter slopped with mud with that broken arm all at a funny angle. And then, Creevey gets attacked. It does look bad for him, doesn't it? Do you think he also set the Rogue Bludger on himself to inspire pity in us?" Dresden said glibly.

Awdry frowned. "Or someone could be setting him up… A convoluted plan like that should have imploded spectacularly by now. And why would someone want to make the Boy-Who-Lived look bad?"

The prefect laughed. "For Merlin's sake, Awdry. The tyke's in Slytherin. Can you imagine someone with his character having ambition? That threat alone scares those in power."

"His character?" Awdry wrinkled his nose. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Harry is always nice to everyone without being an arrogant slimeball like Malfoy," Padma Patil said uneasily. "And he made You-Know-Who disappear as a baby. He can't be bad… can he?"

"Just because Harry was present when You-Know-Who was defeated does not mean that he had anything to do with his demise. That's classic attribution bias," Dresden said sagely. Harry was coming to like the Ravenclaw prefect.

"Just_, think_ about it," Freya shot back, "Nobody knows how a baby could have survived _that _curse without his magical core being blasted to smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark Wizard could have survived it." She dropped her voice to a whisper, "_That's_ probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord _competing_ with him."

"I think that's absolute rubbish. Though, I do wonder what other powers he's been hiding," Dresden said very loudly. Many of them turned to look at Harry, but it was Prefect Dresden's hazel gaze that Harry met steadily.

Taking that as an invitation, Harry stood up. Maybe he had a chance to prove that he wasn't the type to set dangerous creatures on others...?

The second-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws went white as a sheet as Harry approached them; Dresden the Prefect looked at ease.

"Sorry for eavesdropping, but none of you speak Parseltongue, so you wouldn't know the difference between urging a snake on and ordering one to back off," Harry said with as much calm as he could muster while his stomach did somersaults.

"Would you be willing to give us a demonstration, Potter?" Prefect Dresden asked.

"Yes."

Julianne Dresden, by the name under the Ravenclaw crest, conjured a rodent up and then a garden snake. "Go on then. Tell it to attack the rodent."

"_Hungry_?" Harry asked.

The green snake reared up and nodded.

"_Take it!"_

The students flinched—some of them screamed—as the garden snake suddenly attacked the little mouse, swallowing it down in one gulp.

Without stopping to talk about what the group had witnessed, the prefect conjured up another small baby mouse in her hand. "So now you'll prevent the snake from attacking the mouse, right?"

Harry nodded and the little mouse was set on the table.

The snake tasted the air, looking immediately interested. It began to raise itself up.

"Leave it alone," Harry said.

The garden snake hissed. "_But it looks sso tasssty." _It wiggled closer to the rodent, mouth opening.

_"No, you can't eat it!"_

The snake looked over at Harry, "_Why?_"

"_Because I'll vaporize you if you do._"

It stared at him, and then it laid its head down docilely.

The students around Harry were either staring at the snake or Harry with awe.

"You really _were_ telling the snake to stand down," Patil said sounding relieved.

"Why does it sound more threatening when he told the snake to back off?" Hannah Abbott asked her fellow Hufflepuff, Freya, who scowled instead of answering.

"Reptiles follow a strict pecking order," Timothy—Harry looked at his tag—Awdry explained. "I suppose it makes sense when you think about it… Potter has to establish dominance to prevent a snake from following through on its instincts; you saw how he maintained eye contact without blinking? That was a clear threat of aggression."

"_Oh_," Abbott said as if this made all the sense.

"But how do we know that Potter's ordering it to back down when he says he is?" Freya Pennyworth, whose family name was familiar, didn't look convinced.

He blinked at her. "I… well, I'm really bad at lying," he said honestly.

"_Ah_," Dresden said. "You never learned to lie with your aura until you arrived at Hogwarts, did you?"

"Right. That's how…" Harry trailed off, thinking it wasn't any of their business why. He looked away uncomfortably aware of the whispers.

"That's how your relatives' mistreatment was found out?" Abbott said with pity and sadness. "Because Muggles can't see auras?"

After hesitantly nodding, Harry looked at his Hufflepuff year-mate. "Could you tell him, er, Justin, that I'm sorry I scared him? I thought that maybe he wouldn't like to get attacked and have to go see Madam Pomfrey."

The whispering around him intensified.

Abbott nodded. "I'll let him know… But I have a feeling he won't be convinced until you show him what you showed us."

"And I think it's a little too soon for that. He _was_ traumatized, you know," Pennyworth haughtily.

"I understand. Have any more questions?" Harry said looking around the group.

"Did _you_ open the Chamber of Secrets?" Goldstein asked boldly, who was in his Double Herbology class.

"How could I? I don't even know where it is," Harry responded heatedly to the Ravenclaw boy. "And even if I did, I wouldn't open it when there's a basilisk rumored to be inside!"

"_Th__at's_ _why_!" Timothy Awdry exclaimed. "That's why all the spiders have been fleeing from Hogwarts!"

So, none of the students had known?

Frantic talking broke out, and a few groups of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws rushed to exit the Great Hall.

"Thanks, Potter. We'll spread that information around. That way no one dies like what happened fifty years ago."

Harry looked up sharply at Dresden. "Someone _died_?"

"What, with a basilisk running around and no one knowing about it? O_f course_," Awdry responded hotly. "One look into a basilisk's eyes means instant death!"

Harry tried not to look surprised, but several of the Ravenclaws still listening exchanged looks. "Who died?" He asked.

"Miserable, Moping Myrtle Munsen," Prefect Dresden replied pithily. "Fifty years ago, she was a Muggle-born Ravenclaw student, always known to haunt the Girls' Toilet on the second floor when she was upset. When she was killed, her ghost was interrogated but she couldn't tell anyone anything useful. Little wonder if her eyes met the basilisk's in an instant."

Several of the students shuddered at the thought.

Abbott asked, "Why did Mrs. Norris and Creevey only get Petrified then?"

"From what I remember when I read about basilisks…" Awdry answered, "If you only meet its eyes _indirectly_, it said you meet a fate that's worse than death."

"Being Petrified is _worse_ than dying?" Pennyworth said incredulously.

"The source _was_ a bit dated," Awdry responded with a chuckle, "There used to be a time when we couldn't cure Petrification."

The crowd 'oohed' in sympathy.

"Er…" Harry looked over his shoulder and was relieved to see that the Slytherin table was still empty. "I have to go. Slytherins aren't supposed to be friendly towards other Houses, and if I'm caught, I'll receive detention. I'm sorry to be abrupt. I'll see you around, then?"

Most of them stared at him without saying a word.

"See you around, Harry," Dresden said with an easy smile.

Abbott fidgeted. "Bye..."

"See you in Herbology, Harry," Patil said with a grin.

Feeling like he had changed a few minds, Harry left the Great Hall. It wasn't hopeless. Snape was just being pessimistic. Harry still had Hermione... Harry's footsteps faltered. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, but he wouldn't find out if he didn't write her a letter explaining why he kept his Parseltongue ability a secret from her. So intent on this Harry was that he nearly walked right into a snow-covered half-giant. "Hagrid!" Harry was mortified when he realized just how long it'd been since he'd last written Hagrid. "How're you?" He asked nervously.

"All righ'. An' yerself, 'Arry?"

"Yeah, alright, I guess. What're you up to?"

Hagrid held up a limp cockerel. "It's the second one killed this term. I don't know if it's foxes or a Blood-sucking Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission to put a charm around the hen coop." Hagrid peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows. "Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look bothered—"

"It's nothing," he said quickly, not wanting to worry Hagrid. "I have to get going before I'm caught without a housemate."

"Oh, okay. Take care, 'Arry!" Hagrid said lifting the dead rooster up in farewell.

As Harry traveled down the empty corridor towards the dungeons, he heard the voice—the basilisk—again.

"_I…want blood."_

The watch a burning cold beacon against his arm, Harry paused pressing a hand to the wall. Not for the first time, he wondered how large the Dark creature was and how it was getting around.

"_They…all mussst die._"

Harry continued down the hall towards the dungeons, resolved to tell Professor Snape.

"_Kill… Kill…. KILL. Time to kill…"_

And then the cold was gone.

The Slytherin rounded a corner. It was particularly dark here; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane.

Uneasy, Harry lifted his wand before he dared to walk around in the dark. "_Lumos Pyros_!" he said pointing his wand at the torches. Fire flickered up.

He stopped in alarm. A ghost—the Gryffindor ghost—was floating still as death in the hallway, his not completely severed head tilted to the side. A staring Harry slowly walked around the ghost that drifted in the draft.

That's when Harry saw a student lying on the floor in a rigid position. A line of spiders was scuttling as fast as they could from the stiff body. The expressions of both the Hufflepuff boy and the ghost were frozen in shock. Harry's eyes drifted to the name tag. The robes declared the boy as Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry backed away, not daring to touch the too pallor skin. It was the very same boy who'd been traumatized at the dueling club meeting! He _had_ to leave before someone caught him out here.

If only Professor Snape hadn't taken his Invisibility Cloak!

Heart in his throat, Harry bulled forward quickly. _No one_ would believe he hadn't had anything to do with this if he was caught out here!

Right as he was about to turn out of the corridor to the steps to the dungeons, a door in front of him opened with a BANG. His watch went cold a second before Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves. "What's Potter up to? Can't be good lurking about all alone—" Midway through an airborne somersault, Peeves' eyes traveled past Harry and he gave an almighty shriek of terror. He floated straight up to the ceiling, staring at Harry fearfully. "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTACK!"

Harry bolted down the stairs, Peeves' voice echoing around him. A group of Slytherins were sprinting up the stairs wondering what all the fuss was about.

Pushing past the curious eyes of fourth-year girls, Harry ran all the way down to the portrait. _"Puffer-fish Eyes_." He jogged inside, feeling his limbs shake as he ran to Snape's office. He pounded on the door. "Professor Snape! Professor Snape! It happened again!"

The door opened, and he was gestured inside. The door was closed behind him even as Harry's body quaked.

"Sit down."

Doing as he was bid, Harry was shaking so hard now that it was very noticeable. His stomach was roiling with last night's dinner. "I was heading straight for the dungeons from the Great Hall when I heard it. I turned the corner and saw another student was Petrified, the one I'd accidentally scared during the dueling club, sir, and a Petrified ghost was hovering by the student. I knew I had to hide, but there wasn't anywhere I could go or shortcuts, and then _Peeves_ showed up and started screaming—"

Snape raised his hand to silence him and then offered him a vial. "Drink."

Harry was glad it was already uncorked since his hands were shaking terribly; he drank it all and then felt as if he'd swallowed hot, spiced pumpkin juice. After the warmth suffused through him, his uncontrollable shivering stopped. He set the empty vial on Snape's desk.

"_What_ were you doing outside the Slytherin House _alone_?"

Wincing at the angry tone, Harry clutched his knees. "I—no one was awake, sir, and I was restless." He looked up sharply. "Professor, I _swear_ I didn't do it!"

Snape brought a tight fist up, pressing a knuckle to an eyebrow. "There is more than _one_ reason for Slytherin's traveling system. You have demonstrated _why_. Now, it's one Slytherin's suspicious account against a third-party poltergeist's."

"But, sir—"

"_Silence_," Professor Snape hissed. "Let us hope your error of judgment is redeemable." He stood. "Follow me."

Harry's Head of House led them through the side door, which opened directly to the corridor and took them an alternate route out of the dungeons. They passed a few groups of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors before Harry realized that he and Professor Snape were heading to the headmaster's office.

They marched in silence, until Professor Snape stopped before the large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's suites. "_Lemon drop_!" Snape said curtly.

The gargoyle jumped aside at once and the wall behind the statue split in two revealing the spiral staircase Harry was more familiar with. They both stepped inside and were carried as if on an escalator, until at last a gleaming oak door was ahead with a brass knocker on it in the shape of a griffin.

Professor Snape went to the door and rapped the knocker sharply against the wood. It opened silently, and they entered.

Harry had never stepped foot into Dumbledore's office before, but he could hardly feel excited to look around at all the interesting contraptions. He was sure he was going to get expelled on false accusations. He swallowed. Would that mean Harry would be sent to Azkaban?

"Don't touch anything," Snape barked out and then left through an adjacent arched doorway.

There was a large desk across from Harry in the enormous and beautiful circular room. The walls above the carved wood paneling were covered with moving portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing.

Resigned, Harry raised his exhausted eyes to look at the fascinating silver instruments emitting smoke on the shelf behind the desk. Then, he caught sight of a shabby, tattered Wizard's hat—it was the _Sorting Hat_.

He was immediately furious at the sight of it and walked around the claw-footed desk. He stared at it.

"Bee in your bonnet, Potter?" The Sorting Hat asked him from its high perch.

"This is _your_ fault. If you had listened to me and Sorted me somewhere else, like Gryffindor, none of this would have happened and I might have been able to stay in Hogwarts!"

"Yes… you were particularly _difficult_ to place," the hat agreed with a murmur. "However, you are infinitely better off in Slytherin."

"Better? I'm _worse off! _Everyone thinks I'm the Heir of Slytherin!" Whatever potion Professor Snape had given him was still in effect because Harry did not feel very anxious or upset with the Sorting Hat's words.

The hat appeared to frown down at him.

Before the Enchanted Object said anything more, a strange gagging noise to the side of Harry made him turn to look.

He wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey.

Harry stared at it while he stepped closer to peer at it.

The bird looked balefully back, making another choked sound.

Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers dropped from its slouchy frame. Harry thought it looked very ill.

_All I need is for Professor Dumbledore's pet bird to die when I'm here alone and I'm done for—_The bird burst into flames.

Harry yelled in shock and stepped into the desk. He looked all around, feverishly looking for a glass of water. Hearing the bird give one last shriek, Harry looked back and saw that the bird was now nothing more than a pile of smoldering ash caught in a bowl beneath the perch.

The office door opened at the top of the steps behind the perch, and Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape strolled down the stairs. Both looked somber.

"Professor," Harry gasped out, "Your bird—I couldn't do anything—he just caught fire—"

Dumbledore smiled, much to Harry's astonishment. "About time, too. He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on." The headmaster reached the bottom of the stairs. "Pity you had to see him on a Burning Day."

Slack-jawed and shaking, Harry was handed another vial from Professor Snape, and he drank it down in one large gulp. He felt calm again. "Thanks," he croaked out to his silent guardian whose long fingers plucked the empty vial from Harry's grasp.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Their life cycle is such that they burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes," Professor Dumbledore said easily, gesturing towards the ash pile for Harry to look.

Harry watched in awe as a tiny, wrinkled newborn bird poked its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.

"He's really very handsome most of the time with a wonderful red and gold plumage." The headmaster leaned over the newborn wiggling his fingers at it as it purred out a coo. "Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly _faithful_ pets."

The door swung open suddenly, and Harry turned to see who it was.

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, sirs!" Hagrid said in his moleskin overcoat. "It wasn't Harry. I was talkin' ter him _seconds _before that Hufflepuff was found, he never had the time, sir_._"

"Hagrid—" Professor Dumbledore said.

The giant man waved his arm around in agitation. "It can't've bin him, I'd be prepared to swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to! I know Harry'd never open—"

"Hagrid!" Dumbledore shouted, his hand raised abruptly. "Relax." The wizened hand gently settled on Harry's right shoulder. "I do not believe that Harry attacked anyone."

"Of course you don't," Hagrid said, and then paused in confusion. "Oh," he said and looked sheepish behind his bushy beard, his arm dropping to his side. "Right, I'll wait outside then, headmaster."

"Yes," the headmaster said softly with a nod.

The door was closed much more quietly behind Harry. Harry's spirit was lifted that the half-giant was prepared to swear to anyone that Harry was innocent.

"You don't think it was me, professor?" Harry repeated hopefully.

"No, Harry I do not think it was you." His face was somber again. "But I must ask you, Harry, whether anything peculiar happened before you came across Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington and Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Harry stared at him. Obviously, Sir Nicholas was Nearly Headless Nick. But Dumbledore was the _headmaster_. Why was he asking Harry?

Looking to his guardian, Harry wondered what Professor Snape had said to the headmaster. Then, he turned to Professor Dumbledore. "How do you mean peculiar?"

"Such as handling a mysterious magical object or losing track of time without realizing it..."

Harry frowned. "No, sir. Nothing like that. Before… or maybe it's after…?" He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head, unsure. "What I know is that I can hear the basilisk slithering around inside the walls while it talks to itself, and I keep coming upon its victims like I'm meant to find them." Harry blinked at himself. "Oh," he said dumbly.

Professor Snape snorted.

"Thank you for your honesty, Harry. I'm afraid I can't reassure you, other than to say that I am seriously considering closing the school for the safety of the students," Professor Dumbledore said wearily. "If only we knew who the culprit was so we could avoid such a fate."

"Potter, you're missing breakfast. Come along," Professor Snape said sharply, turning towards the door.

With one last nervous look towards the headmaster who nodded towards him, Harry had to run to catch up. As soon as the moving stone staircase had deposited them at the bottom, Harry's guardian said, "You have an appointment in my office after Christmas Dinner."

"Yes, sir," Harry said as they walked to the Great Hall which wasn't too far away from the headmaster's office.

Outside the double doors and out of sight of the other students, Professor Snape stopped and gave Harry a measured look. "If you do not eat a sufficient meal, I may spell nutritional potions into your stomach when you least expect it."

That sounded unpleasant. Harry grimaced. "Yes, sir."

Snape casually flicked his fingers towards the Great Hall, and Harry entered the hall by himself.

After all that, Harry was surprised that he hadn't been expelled outright or threatened with imprisonment in Azkaban. Perhaps it didn't matter to the headmaster that Harry was a Parselmouth? Maybe if the headmaster really did believe him, then Harry would be able to escape punishment for a crime he didn't commit... Harry's heart lifted at that.

His fellow Slytherins were smirking at the rest of the houses, likely believing that Harry had everything under control. With an irritated sigh when he was greeted formally, Harry sat and began to pile his plate with food. He only just realized that the potions—obvious Calming Draughts—had left him absolutely famished.

"The double attack was a splendid idea, Harry," Draco said with a slimy look of admiration on his face, "Everyone's in a real panic now. I didn't even know a ghost could be Petrified."

"I _did not_ open the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said curtly.

Draco's eyes showed he didn't believe him. "Of course you didn't, your Grace."

Harry's shoulders hunched as he forced food into his mouth.

When the Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall appeared, there was nearly a stampede to the High Table. The students were shouting that they wanted to change their holiday plans _post haste_.

From the Gryffindor table, Hermione caught Harry's eye and _glared_ at him.

Well, that answered Harry's question. He looked away sadly. What was he supposed to have done? She would have rejected him had he told her the truth. Those who were Parselmouths almost always became evil and Dark wizards, and Harry was neither evil or Dark.

At least most of the students would probably be leaving for Christmas Holiday, judging by the amount of those who were changing plans.

Nor did Harry miss how many non-Slytherins skirted around the Slytherin table, staring at him as though he might sprout fangs or spit poison.

Judging by all the muttering, pointing, and hissing, Harry's effort to calm the other Hogwarts students that morning had failed miserably by the discovery of Justin Finch-Fletchley

With the destination of a quiet day in the library in mind, Harry left the Great Hall followed by his nine other year-mates.

Fred and George Weasley thought it was very funny to march in front of them down the corridors, shouting, "Make way, make way! The Heir of Slytherin, a seriously _evil_ wizard, is coming through!"

Anyone in front of their procession immediately skittered out of the way as if they were going to be smote, and the Weasley twins laughed uproariously every time it happened.

"Those Weasleys aren't so bad, your Grace," Theodore whispered beside him.

Harry wanted badly to hex the two troublemakers. It was unfortunate that if he'd done that it would have proved their case.

Thankfully, Prefect Weasley appeared and shouted coldly at them, "This is _not_ a laughing matter!"

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," Fred said, "Harry's in a hurry."

"Yeah," George continued through his chortles, "He's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cuppa with his fanged servant!"

"I bet an annoying prefect like you is next Percy!" Fred crowed and laughed when Percy's face bleached out.

"Oh, _don't_," Ginny Weasley wailed. "Stop it! Harry hasn't opened the Chamber of Secrets! He _told_ everyone he doesn't even know where it is!"

"We know!" The Twins caroused, laughing uproariously.

_Oh, thank Merlin_. Harry had thought that they were being serious.

"How _dare _they mock you!" Draco hissed on the other side of him. "Are you going to just let them do that?"

Harry grinned. "It's all in harmless fun, Draco. I don't see what the problem is."

Draco's expression was sour as if he'd swallowed something nasty.


	11. Chess Strategies

_**Author's notes: **__Christmas break at Hogwarts! Harry seems to have calmed down a bit, now that he knows that the headmaster, Professor Snape, and Hagrid believe him. _

_I apologize for the uber-frequent updates, but I know I won't have time in the next two months to write and post much, so bear with me if you're finding the frequency of updates annoying._

* * *

With the end of classes that term, a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, even if he had at least six other Slytherins flanking him at any given time.

The day for students to leave on Hogwarts Express passed, and Harry realized that nearly half of the Slytherins had stayed for Christmas Holiday, mainly third years and younger. Last year it had just been him and Samantha Pitts.

It was certainly livelier. Professor Snape looked a little more put out than normal, likely disturbed by the large number of students upsetting his traditionally quiet holiday.

At the following breakfast, Harry saw that the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables were practically empty. The only students at the Gryffindor table were Hermione and the Weasleys. Ron was feeding his grey rat which was perched on his shoulder.

"I hope you pick your _Muggle-born ex _next," Draco muttered beside Harry.

Harry sighed. Since he'd beaten Draco in every duel yet, he'd kept his promise to stop using the term _Mudblood_. Its substitute still sounded like a curse word though. Harry hadn't expected Draco to suddenly and miraculously begin liking magical persons born from the Muggle world just because he didn't use that foul oath, but he'd had a very tiny hope that Draco would treat Harry's best friend like a person rather than nasty muck stuck to the bottom of his boot... Now that Hermione was giving Harry a cold shoulder, Draco expected Harry to retaliate; it seemed to frustrate the other boy that Harry continued to defend her.

Owl Post came and dropped off loads of letters for the Slytherins, some for the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and nothing at all for the small group of Gryffindors. Harry caught the note from Hermione, his heart taking a small leap of hope. He'd sent her several letters asking for forgiveness for not telling her his secret earlier. Maybe... he looked across the Great Hall at the back of her bushy brown hair. Maybe she'd forgiven him?

Thinking this was a good time as any, he handed Hedwig Hermione's Christmas present. "You'll need to come back to take other presents to my friends who didn't stay for the holiday."

She hooted in understanding and flapped over to Hermione dropping the parcel, while Harry quickly tore open the letter wondering what she had to say.

In it, she railed at him for being so secretive, and that she hardly trusted anything Harry said now because of what had happened to Justin and Sir Nicholas. She also accused Harry of killing Hagrid's roosters since their crows were fatal to basilisks. _You pretend to be harmless, but you're actually very dangerous and cunning! You've got nearly the entire staff dancing in the palm of your hand. It's the only reason why you haven't been kicked out yet. Well, my eyes have been opened, Harry Potter. I will prove_ _that you're the one who set the basilisk on those poor people!_ Harry could practically hear Hermione's biting, angry tone stream from the places where her quill's point had scratched parchment paper. Hedwig had returned and perched patiently on Harry's shoulder without nipping his ear.

The shock must have shown on Harry's face because Draco plucked the letter from his lax fingers. His roommate quickly read it and then tore it up, tossing the pieces into the air like confetti. "Considering her lack of blood purity, that Granger ought to watch herself," he said loud enough for anyone to hear.

Ron turned and glared at them, but Hermione yanked him to turn back around to look at whatever she was pointing at. Draco smirked back. "Don't you agree, your Grace?"

"No, I don't. I wouldn't trust someone who I thought was my best friend either if they had kept secrets from me." Harry was trying to figure out _who_ was behind opening the Chamber to _protect_ his best friend, but despite his best effort she had pushed him away without giving him a second chance. It'd hurt to realize that Hermione had assumed the worst of him and that they might never be friends again. He looked in her direction, but she steadfastly refused to turn in his direction.

It was then that Harry learned that someone could lose their very best friend even with the best of intentions.

Hedwig nipped his ear then, reminding Harry that he had packages to give the owl, and Harry offered her Theodore's and Sally-Anne's Shrunken Christmas presents and a bit of bread. She ate the bread and took a tiny present in each talon, alighting. Harry watched her fly through the illusion of sky to the opening in the ceiling.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Harry woke early as was his habit. By the time he returned from the showers, his roommates were slowly waking up.

He went to his trunk and used an Enlarging Charm on the presents he'd wrapped for his remaining roommates and placed them by their beds.

Since Harry had already sent Bulstrode's and Greengrass' out with Hedwig when she came back the previous evening, the five wrapped presents remaining would go to Davis, Parkinson, Hagrid and his boarhound, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape. He quickly took out a small empty drawstring pouch that had once held dried beetles and dumped the girls' Shrunken presents into it. He set Professor Dumbledore's and his guardian's presents on his bed.

There was a rapping on the window. Harry pulled it open and Hedwig dropped a lightweight paper-wrapped present in his hand. Other than for the note in Snape's handwriting that said 'Open in private', the gift was unlabeled. In the cold burst of air, Harry patted Hedwig's head feathers and then gave her the pouch. "Please deliver this to the second-year Slytherin girls in their dormitory." Harry gave a heavier twine-wrapped present to her other talon. "And this goes to Hagrid."

"Potter, shut the window! It's bloody cold!" Draco yelled crankily.

Once Hedwig flew out, Harry closed the window. When the girls discovered what was inside the pouch, they'd know how to Enlarge the gifts; the presents each had a name tag. Hagrid's present was necessarily its normal size due to the half-giant's lack of a proper wand and apparent requirement to have permission every time he cast magic.

Putting the gift Snape had sent him in his trunk, Harry tapped the trunk to lock it up tight. "Merry Christmas, everyone," he said tiredly, slumping to the floor by the foot of his bed where all his presents laid. He waited until his fellow Slytherins had all sunk to the chilly stone floor wrapped in blankets, robes, or cloaks.

They began to tear into their presents.

Harry had received a large tin of treacle fudge—which would be hard enough to break teeth—from Hagrid; different varieties of wizard candy from Goyle, Crabbe, and Bulstrode; Greengrass sent an inkpot of Invisible Ink and a Revealer, which was a bright red eraser that was supposed to reveal things written in said ink; from Sally-Anne, a luxury falcon-feather Self-Inking quill—to be used normally or could write from diction; from Parkinson, a crocheted scarf in Slytherin colors charmed to move to keep a wearer warm no matter how hard the wind blew; a very old and worn book called _Magical Snakes and Serpents: A Parselmouth's Perspective_ by Quinn the Sly from Davis; a pair of No-Slip dragon-hide boots from Theodore; and a cloak made of Spellfast—a material duelists apparently preferred because of the defensive spells one could latch onto it—from Draco.

Hermione had sent him nothing. Harry tried not to be unhappy about that.

He thanked his roommates and they thanked him back. The presents Harry had given out to his roommates had been well-received.

Crabbe and Goyle were enjoying their Cockroach Clusters and Cricket Crunchies Harry had Owl-ordered from Honeydukes.

Draco was clutching the framed picture of him and Harry flying around the Quidditch Pitch; they were obviously having a lot of fun in their silent laughter. "This is a remarkable photograph," he said, his voice oddly strained. Harry wasn't sure what the little frown on Draco's lips was about, but decided not to think too hard about it. Draco didn't appear to particularly like the photo of them.

"Yes, it is," Harry said quietly. He wasn't about to tell Draco that Colin Creevey had tried to deliver it to Harry before he'd been Petrified. Reminded of his debt, Harry promised himself that he would pay the boy the five Galleons he was owed when he was cured.

"I really like it." As he gazed down at the photo, Draco's face softened into a smile though there was a tension that pinched the spot between his eyebrows. Harry wondered if he was meant to see the expression and then assume they were close friends. Trying not to think too hard about it, Harry turned towards his trunk and shut many of his presents into it. The candy, Revealer, Invisible Ink, and Self-Inking quill went onto his desk.

The rest of the day was spent messing around, playing Exploding Snap or Wizard chess.

Christmas Dinner was a splendid affair. The Great Hall—like it did for any holiday feast—looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling.

The Slytherin girls and Harry exchanged pleasant thank-yous over the gifts. He had decided to wear the crocheted scarf, which kept unnervingly tightening about his neck every time he jostled it. It would be useful only for very cold, windy Quidditch matches; Harry doubted he could wear it any other time. It felt like he would be strangled at any moment.

Parkinson was sporting the gift she'd received from Harry: a very stylish hat that had shifted color to precisely that of the dress robes she had on. Davis was reading—her nose was in a thin Muggle textbook on Basic Mechanisms that Harry thought would go a long way in correcting her misconceptions of very basic levers and simple machines Muggles used. Harry had gone to a lot of trouble to get it too; Mr. Blott from Flourish and Blotts had had to special-order it from a Muggle bookstore. Harry had spent several letters explaining to the dismayed storekeeper that Harry hadn't wanted a popular book written by renowned Muggle researchers.

A lumpy present wrapped in shiny red paper in hand, Harry strolled towards the High Table to deliver the package to the headmaster. Harry was quite happy to see that Gilderoy Lockhart was not at the High Table; he must have gone on vacation with the rest of the teachers who weren't Head of Houses.

With a cordial thank-you, Professor Dumbledore opened it and held up the pair of socks with a happy cry. "Oh, Harry, you remembered!"

He grinned at the old man. "You're welcome, sir." Then, he returned to the Slytherin table as the headmaster showed the other professors his gift.

"You just gave _socks_ to the most powerful wizard in the Wizarding world," Draco stated contemptuously.

"So? He said last year that he hadn't gotten a good pair for years."

"They're _socks_," Draco repeated as if Harry hadn't heard him right the first time.

"And he's just put them on," Harry pointed out between bites of his dessert.

Draco looked appalled, seeing Professor Dumbledore walk back and forth in front of the High Tables with his robes lifted to look at the brightly striped woolen socks. They didn't even look like a matched pair since the stripes and patterns were all funny sizes, but the colors were very obviously the same. When Harry had seen them, he had thought they were perfect; he was extremely pleased that Professor Dumbledore felt the same way.

After putting on Harry's gift, Professor Dumbledore insisted that they sing a few carols, which the Slytherins weren't so keen on doing. Hagrid boomed more loudly with every great mug of eggnog he consumed, while Professor McGonagall was chuckling at something Professor Snape had said.

Harry was on his third helping of Christmas pudding, while Crabbe and Goyle couldn't seem to get enough of the small chocolate-covered orange-vanilla cakes.

When he was full from dinner, Harry stood up to leave. Most of the table stood with him. It was a little aggravating and intimidating and gave a bad impression if the glares from the Hufflepuffs were anything to go by. Harry sighed and began to make his way to the double doors, feeling like the Pied Piper of Hamelin when every Slytherin dutifully followed him.

"Hey, Ginny," Fred exclaimed, "It's the Dark-Lord-in-training and his entourage of Baby Death Eaters!" George nearly fell off the bench because he was laughing so hard. Harry wondered if he was drunk.

Prefect Percy began to yell at the Weasley twins, and poor Ginny was in tears as Harry was leaving.

When he and his housemates entered the common room, Draco patted his shoulder. "I'm glad you're waiting until school starts to get back at that Granger for forswearing your friendship. It'll have a much stronger effect that way, and Professor Dumbledore won't be able to hush up what's going on around here any longer. I can't believe the _Daily_ _Prophet_ hasn't run any articles on the Petrified Muggle-borns yet."

Harry just looked at him; obviously, like Lockhart, Draco had made up his mind and wouldn't change it no matter how much Harry told him otherwise. "I have an appointment with Professor Snape."

"Very well. We can discuss your plans at your earliest convenience, your Grace," Draco said, smirking at Harry.

Harry quickly walked to Snape's office and knocked on the door.

"Enter," came the laconic tone.

As Harry stepped in, he pulled the last, tiny present out of his pocket. Tapping it with his wand with a quietly whispered '_Engorgio'_, he handed it to his guardian, who was seated behind the desk. "Happy Christmas, Professor Snape."

"Hm…" The man set it aside without returning the Christmas greeting. "You haven't heard anything from the basilisk, have you?"

"No, sir."

The tips of his long fingers steepled together. "Have you opened your present?"

"I haven't gotten the chance yet."

"Your confiscated cloak lies within."

Harry stood up straighter. "Really?!"

"However," Snape continued as he leaned back into his chair and dropped both hands to the desk, "Like the use of your wand over summer break, there are _rules_ you must follow in its use."

"Right." Harry's excitement didn't deflate at the slightest.

"Do _not_ use it inappropriately or sneak about when you only want to vex me. I have given it back to you because I trust that you know which situations its use would be wise."

"Like when I found Justin and Nearly Headless Nick?"

"Precisely." Snape paused, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Potter, I set this meeting because your shortcomings can no longer be ignored."

"Shortcomings?" Harry laughed uneasily, where he perched at the edge of the seat. "Like what? I mean, my marks are good…"

"Such as your stunning lack of self-preservation and forethought," Snape drawled.

Harry blinked at him. "Er, my lack of forethought, sir?"

"You leap into action with hardly a second thought and chase after danger as if your life was some grand adventure in a fairy tale with a happy ending." Snape grimaced. "If you continue in your misadventures, you will be dead before you ever graduate from Hogwarts."

Harry looked down at his shoes at the frank statement. Heaviness weighed on his shoulders. He took a breath and met Snape's cool stare. "I'm not trying to get myself killed, sir."

The adult's gaze grew quite irritated.

Harry fidgeted. "Since avoiding trouble doesn't seem to be working, what do you suggest, sir?"

"Begin by thinking about _yourself_, your needs, wants, and wishes," his guardian stated crisply.

"Er…" Harry frowned. That was an odd command and something he absolutely did not want to do. He'd seen the result of that with his cousin: a spoiled child who was ever-greedy and never satisfied. "I don't understand. How would that keep me out of trouble?"

"Do you know why I abhor the Dursleys?" Snape asked neutrally, instead of answering.

Harry wondered why he was suddenly being asked that. "Because they mistreated me, sir?"

"Those Muggles never once taught you to value yourself. Because of that, you are dedicated to pleasing others without even requiring reciprocity."

Harry frowned because this hardly seemed like a shortcoming. "What's wrong with altruism?"

"If taken to the extreme, the same things that are wrong with being a self-centered narcissist." Snape shifted, gesturing with his fingers. "Neither have a firm grasp on reality and both result in psychologically-devastating social isolation. Understand that if you develop a healthy sense of self-preservation such as I intend to drive into you, you _will not turn into **Lockhart**_." Snape spat out the name like it was the most intensely distasteful word that he had the displeasure of excreting. "There is balance in all things. You can still be productive in your desire to protect the inhabitants of this school while still protecting yourself."

Harry's heart gave such a curious ache that he rubbed his chest. He mulled his guardian's words over a few moments. "What if I choose to protect everyone over my own safety?" He whispered.

Snape spoke his next words carefully, keeping Harry's gaze. "You are worth caring for."

Harry tried to process these words. It was a rather _difficult_ thought to wrap his mind around, and it made him feel awfully _odd_. "But there's nothing _special_ about me," Harry whispered, feeling chilled.

"Is your owl special?" Snape asked suddenly.

"What? I, well… I don't think there's anything extraordinary about Hedwig."

"Does your owl _deserve_ to be fed and taken care of?"

"Of course," Harry said hotly. Just the thought of denying Hedwig food horrified him.

"Then why are you any different?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry blinked, fumbling with his robes. He didn't know _why…_ he just felt like he wasn't… he looked up. "So, that's what you meant. That's my shortcoming."

His guardian nodded, touching his fingertips together once more. "We are going to discuss methods of developing your sense of self-preservation to healthier levels. I have already given you many tools for you to use, such as basic knowledge of our world, strategy, and dueling skills. Tell me, how can these skills be applied to assess a potentially dangerous situation, such as when you first heard the unknown voice emanating from the walls?"

"Er…" Harry said, his mind racing for an appropriate response. "I should probably start by asking myself if it's dangerous to check out."

"Wrong," Snape drawled in a bored tone, dropping his hands to the desk in a disappointed manner.

Harry frowned thoughtfully.

"If I were looking for a pretty, neatly-packaged answer, that would perhaps be it; however, there is nothing _neat_ about reality." Professor Snape drew out the last word as if savoring it. "In chess... before either side has made a move, what information do you evaluate?"

"I think about what my opponent's strengths and weaknesses are if I've ever played them before," Harry said uneasily, worried that he was wrong.

"Exactly so. What do you evaluate if the opponent is someone you haven't played, but you personally know?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "I think about how they act in different situations or in different moods, though that doesn't always mean that's how they'll play. Gilbert's completely ruthless at chess, yet he's very friendly… Then again… I don't think I ever want to cross him."

"In other words, you are evaluating what you know about the person, how that may affect the details of the game, and how best to utilize that information, correct?" Once Harry nodded, Snape continued, "Now, do you, at any point, carefully consider what you don't know, what you need to know, and how to go about discovering what you need to know?"

"Er… Well," Harry hesitated because he often did it with things that landed him straight into trouble, "I did that with the Philosopher's Stone last year, and I've begun to with the Chamber of Secrets."

Snape paused reflectively. "I will accept that you are perfectly capable of understanding just how dangerous a situation is and that self-preservation simply doesn't factor into your analysis." The Potions professor went quiet for a moment in deep thought.

Harry shifted in the chair, picking at the frayed seam on the green arm. He wondered what his guardian was thinking.

"In chess," Professor Snape began slowly, "Pieces must be sacrificed in order to win. Tell me, Harry, can you win if you sacrifice your king?"

"No, sir. I mean, the whole point of the game is to keep your king alive and capture the opponent's king. If you sacrificed your king, you'd lose the game."

A deep silence settled on them as Snape looked at him. When after a few more moments Harry said nothing, his guardian gave him a long, irritated look.

"….You're saying I'm like someone who throws away their king in chess? That I lose each time I don't think about my own safety…?" It was an interesting perspective, though Harry was having trouble applying the metaphor to reality.

"More like you are a beginner that attempts to march his king down the center of the board and moves other pieces to protect him only as an afterthought. By the way you have played thus far, it appears that you only conceive that a king may check another king, a losing strategy which only wins points for virtuous thinking." Snape's fingers flicked through the air. "I understand your reluctance to rely on others when your peers are so easily led astray by various vagaries of the time. I am even somewhat sympathetic to your enlightened desire not to impose your demands on others. However, by refusing to bend your principles in reaching out to your housemates, the belief of a Dark Lord in ascendant has been firmly embedded among them… which was the opposite effect that you desired, was it not?"

"I don't understand. How did not taking advantage of my housemates lead to my being taken for a Dark Lord?"

The facial muscles in Professor Snape's face twitched and he took a very deep breath as if he found Harry's question very tiresome. For a moment, Harry thought he looked as if would throttle Harry. "You have set yourself apart. By not reaching out to your fellow Slytherins you have nonverbally derided their ordinariness. In little more than a year, you have expressed your wish to rise above them all in your ambition towards greatness. Your year-mates have already conveyed to you that they will follow you down this path, have they not?" Harry knew that Snape had seen how he was followed everywhere he went now. Why did he bother asking?

"I think I'm going to be sick," he said faintly as he tried to remember how to breathe. He didn't want anybody to bow to him and call him by formal address; Harry wasn't any good at leading, let alone ordering others around. That was more suited to Draco. Harry pressed his hands against his face, trying to calm down and think about what his guardian had told him. If he compared his life to chess, Harry's movements weren't logical. Not only that, he'd never thought out how the others would react to his plays. He just moved how he liked without any regard to anyone else's plays unless his plays had any chance of hurting them. From that perspective, it seemed like the height of arrogance.

If he'd played Wizard chess like that, Harry would have never learned any spells from Gilbert.

When the silence drew out for too long, Professor Snape sighed with exasperation. "In _chess,_ do you ignore every piece except for the king?"

"No, you have to take everything else into consideration too. The king is very important, but if they take all your other pieces, you've lost."

"And if you were to march your king straight down the board, you would be stuck doing what?"

Harry looked up, meeting his guardian's black eyes. "On the defensive. You can't win that way unless your opponent's really bad at chess."

"_Or_," Snape drawled. "You are stupidly lucky. _Should_ you rely solely on luck?"

"I'd hope not, sir… That strategy's more suited to playing cards," Harry said with a cringe.

"Where is your queen?"

Harry frowned at him. "My queen?"

"Your cloak?"

"Oh. In my seven-sequence-locked trunk, sir."

"What moves can you perform with it?"

"Evade capture, get somewhere others don't expect, listen in on people's conversations…" Harry trailed off.

"Can you not also use it to taunt your opponent, whoever or whatever it may be, into a trap or into revealing information that you need?"

"Yes, sir."

"And can your opponent attack you or progress if they are defending against a well-placed queen?"

"It would be very difficult, but not impossible… Discretion is advised."

"As it always is," Snape remarked. "Now, who or what, are you knights? Consider movement and usefulness carefully."

Harry's eyes widened. Was Snape asking him to _use_ his friends? "Um... Hagrid...?"

Snape's eyes narrowed as he surveyed Harry very coldly.

"What?" Harry hated it when anyone looked at him like he was an idiot.

"Potter, you will write six inches for each chess piece, describing who or what and why you have given them a position on your chess board. I want every piece's attribute paralleled to reality. You are to consider every person and item that could be available to you in any situation. Additionally, you will write two feet worth of parchment summarizing how each piece can be utilized to its fullest potential in whichever hypothetical situations you devise to counter opposing strategies. You will bring this analysis to me for assessment. At some point, I may decide to _put_ you into a situation you are to evaluate. Do you understand?"

This was going to ruin the rest of his holiday. Harry glumly nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. If at any point you have difficulty progressing, you are to request assistance from whatever piece you deem most useful."

Harry nodded again. Well, on the bright side, he wouldn't have to socialize with Draco if he was stuck writing this essay.

"You may go."

Eyes immediately going to the unopened Christmas present, Harry hesitated. "Are you going to open your present, sir?"

Snape studied him. "Very well," he responded as if humoring Harry and picked up the package inspecting it. With a glance at Harry, the adult began peeling off the wrapper. Snape's face went lax as he pulled out the very old, tattered book.

When the Potions Master said nothing else, Harry wondered if he'd given him the wrong thing. Worse yet, what if Professor Snape couldn't read Latin?

His guardian exhaled quietly, staring at it. He looked up as if he'd only just remembered that Harry was still sitting there. "_This_ is what you spent that _pittance_ on?"

Harry grinned. He didn't think four thousand Galleons was worth so little. He thought that perhaps Snape was impressed by the potions book and had meant it as a compliment. "I'm going to get started on that essay, sir." He hopped off the chair and backed out the office after opening the door. Professor Snape didn't stop him.

Even with the ten feet of parchment Snape had assigned—eight for the chess pieces and two with the 'hypothetical situations' and strategies—Harry was jubilant. He walked out of the door and into the mostly-empty common room.

"Saint Potter, the ally of _Muggle-borns_," Draco scoffed loudly.

Harry frowned and located Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle sitting in front of a roaring fireplace.

"No one would ever think _he _was the Heir of Slytherin and if they did they can't definitively prove it was him."

"Draco," Harry said angrily as he stalked across through the tiled floor. "I've already told you I'm _not_."

Draco sniffed. "Who _else_ would it be then?"

Crabbe and Goyle peered at Harry with keen interest.

"I don't know, but it's not me," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"_Oh_, my mistake," Draco said with mocking bow. "Is there, perhaps, _someone_ else that's a Parselmouth?"

"This is _exactly_ why I didn't tell anyone!" Harry exploded. "Why'd you have to go and summon that snake?"

"We've already been through this," Draco said with a bored tone, "It's a pity that twit enraged the snake I summoned. You would have lost the duel, and I'd have my favorite curse word back—no offense meant towards your mother of course… But I like these results too. Now that everyone knows you're the Heir of Slytherin, it's only a matter of time before you'll claim what's rightfully yours."

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm _not _the Heir of Slytherin, and I _won't _be the next Dark Lord. I'm going to be myself, and I won't let you or anyone else tell me differently! I'll _never _hurt my friends!"

Draco paced around Harry, and Harry turned to watch him suspiciously. "That Muggle-born isn't your friend, your Grace. She never was. Don't you understand that?"

"You shut up about Hermione," Harry said, anger thrumming inside of him.

"She _deserves _to be punished after the way she's treated you! You defend her and all her ilk, and she spits in your face? If _I _was a Parselmouth, I'd make certain that the basilisk catches her unaware and does her in properly. Petrification is too nice for the likes of _her._"

Arm darting out, Harry grabbed the front of Draco's robes. "_She's my best friend_!"

Draco smirked, placing a hand on Harry's. "Now, now. I'm only telling it like I see it, _your Grace_. Is that really any reason to take your anger out on me?"

He was right, of course. Draco only saw that Hermione wasn't on Harry's side and assumed that meant she was the enemy. All the blond Slytherin saw was the world as a chess board. Harry suddenly felt very sad for Draco. What was friendship and love and happiness in a strategy game of war? Meaningless. Harry released him. He understood how he had to talk to Draco now. "It just kills you, doesn't it?"

Lightly brushing down the front of his robes, Draco picked nonexistent lint off of it. "What does?"

"That a Muggle-born's smarter than _you_."

Harry felt the animosity from Draco immediately. "If you're suggesting that I'm _jealous—"_

"Not suggesting. You _are_."

Draco's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared in an angry manner. "I'm not jealous."

"Hermione has the best marks among second-year students, and she's not from a magical bloodline." Draco looked shocked to hear Harry say that. "Draco... I know your dad is trying to force you to outperform her, but I wish he wouldn't. You're fine just the way you are."

There was a choked noise from Harry's otherwise too-quiet roommates; they were staring at him. Crabbe, who was particularly superstitious, had his mouth wide open for a Wemblyfly to steal his tongue.

"Are you alright?" Harry searched for the justification to explain his sudden question, but found none.

"Er, stomachache," Crabbe said, bending over slightly.

"Um, who was it that opened the Chamber last time?" Goyle asked, his voice breathier than usual.

"I told you this before," Draco made a noise of exasperation. "Where do you think we got our Gamekeeper? He was expelled on the mere suspicion that he'd opened the Chamber of Secrets by accident." He smirked. "Of course if _Dumby-door_ really thought that big oaf was responsible, he would have been shipped out already."

Harry frowned. If Hagrid had taken the blame and was expelled for it, it was little wonder why the half-giant had been so frightened that Harry might meet the same fate.

"It was You-Know-Who, wasn't it?" Goyle said, "When he was a student here."

"The Dark Lord, yes," Draco said with bright, eager eyes. "My father told me about it. Said it was no coincidence that Harry would be Sorted here if he didn't have the blood of Salazar Slytherin running through his veins. Being a Parselmouth only confirms it."

Then Harry and Voldemort were both Parselmouths…? That explained why everyone suddenly seemed to hate him, and why his housemates were so keen to believe that Harry wanted to be a Dark Lord… But who could be opening the Chamber of Secrets? It didn't make any sense. Dobby had said it wasn't Voldemort opening the Chamber of Secrets this time... Was it one of his supporters? Had Voldemort taught a few of his most loyal supporters how to speak Parseltongue?

"So you see," Draco said pompous certainty towards Harry, "We're right back where we started. You're the only person who could've opened it."

Harry glared at him. "There _has_ to be another reason, like a Parseltongue Potion or Charm one could use temporarily."

"No such thing exists," Goyle said promptly.

Both Draco and Harry did a double-take.

"How would _you_ know?" Draco asked with open curiosity.

"I do _read_," Goyle said sounding affronted.

"I didn't know you could read," Draco said to himself.

"If he can write, he can read," Harry said exasperated. "You think he'd pass any of his exams if he were truly that incapable?"

"I meant that I didn't know he read _for_ _leisure_," Draco bantered back.

"I'm not surprised that you wouldn't know what he did for fun," Harry countered, "You have trouble enough looking past your own nose."

"Ha! Better that than being too farsighted!" Draco gestured a hand towards Harry. "You look so far past your own nose that you can't even see that you're destined for greatness! You have _everything_ and what do you do with it? You treat house-elves like _equals_," he spat out.

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw the two boys lumbering up the steps. He turned with a curious frown, thinking it was uncharacteristic of them.

"Hey! Where are you two going? You know it's past curfew!" Draco yelled at them.

"Medicine for my stomach," Crabbe grunted.

Harry thought it was odd that his hair was looking a bit redder while Goyle's hair was growing longer and getting curly… but they ducked out.

"Those idiots. Why are they going to Madam Pomfrey when they know they have a perfectly good Potions Master right down the hall?"

"Don't know. Maybe they were embarrassed," Harry offered, even while he thought that something very strange was going on.

"As I was saying, I can't believe you continue to deny your birthright," Draco said with an affronted tone. "If I was a Parselmouth—"

"But you're not," Harry said firmly. That shut him up.

A few moments later Goyle and Crabbe clambered back down the stairs groggily, wearing only their underpants and a shirt.

"You look worse than before!" Draco looked shocked to see their state of undress. "What the blazes happened to you?!"

"We woke up in a closet," Goyle said through a yawn.

Crabbe nodded sluggishly.

"Where are your clothes? Where are your shoes? Were you _robbed _and then _Obliviated_ after you walked out of here?"

The both of them shrugged.

"Must be someone's idea of a joke. Probably those two Weasley twins," Draco said aloud. "You have extras, don't you?"

Crabbe and Goyle nodded.

"Well then." Draco politely covered his mouth when he suddenly yawned. "_I'm_ exhausted. Your Grace, we're retiring for the night."

When the other boys waited expectantly, Harry begrudgingly nodded. He immensely disliked the feeling of others expecting permission from him.

As the trio headed to the dormitory steps, an insight struck Harry right then. If Crabbe and Goyle had been sleeping in a closet without their robes on all this time… Who were the Crabbe and Goyle they'd been talking to the past ten minutes?

Harry had a nasty realization.

The firecracker in the cauldron all those weeks ago had been a _diversion_. Even after they said they wouldn't, Hermione and Ron had _stolen_ some of Professor Snape's supplies so they could make Polyjuice Potion.

Agitated Harry thought back over their conversation. Had he said anything that might implicate him _further_?

Harry shook his head. What was he thinking? He ought to tell Professor Snape what he knew… But that would mean betraying his friend's secret…

The thought of Ron Weasley's expulsion hardly bothered Harry as they weren't very close friends. However, the Weasley didn't have the required skill in potion-making to make such an advanced potion. His partner in Potions class, Hermione Granger, did. Snape would know this, even without Harry telling him.

Harry sighed heavily. He'd keep his mouth shut only out of loyalty to Hermione, even if she didn't feel the same way. He was much more concerned with whoever was opening the Chamber of Secrets.


	12. Riddle's Diary

_**Author's notes: **Yes, I like the Dresden Files. I borrowed the last name. It's a good series. Also, I borrowed the idea of Spellfast fabric from the Mirror of Maybe, though perhaps not exactly._

_More awkward things Harry learns about because he asks questions. Of course it's a non-issue to him, just like everything else. Can't really expect him to act any differently... now Draco would be a different story._

* * *

A few weeks later, Christmas holiday ended, and Harry had only written a few feet on the essay Snape had assigned him. Harry had begun the long essay by declaring himself the king—even while he winced at how obnoxiously vain the title sounded in his head. After all, his roommates had refused to stop using _your_ _Grace_ as a form of address to Harry despite his protests. Harry hadn't had much difficulty writing six inches about why he was in such a weak position; if he was checkmated, it was game over as far as he was concerned. He was king because others were willing to follow and protect him from threats. Harry was also king because his movements became overly cautious and defensive, when he was cornered.

Draco was an obvious rook, while Sally-Anne and Theodore were bishops. Hagrid was a knight and Harry's Invisibility Cloak was the queen. Greengrass, Davis, and Parkinson were pawns, as much as Harry hated the word. He rambled at length about each one trying to write with larger print to make six inches per chess piece. Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle weren't quantifiably useful to Harry to even declare them as pawns. That left five pawns, a knight, and a rook left unassigned.

He truly began to hate the essay when he looked at Padma Patil in Herbology and thought she'd make a decent pawn. She was one of the few, who were still friendly towards him.

Harry knew it was only a matter of time that Snape would ask after the essay, but he hadn't been able to work on it when he was drowning in the piles of homework that had been assigned the first week back from holiday. Harry didn't mind the work so long as he could continue to avoid Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry had somewhat gotten used to the reverence from his housemates. Though he found their behavior disconcerting, he was becoming more annoyed by them. Not even Sally-Anne and Theodore believed he was anything but the Heir of Slytherin, and absolutely no one was trying to dissuade him from setting the basilisk on Muggle-borns, which was the most worrying experience about it. Did no one in Slytherin care to know the difference between right or wrong? Or was it because any dissenters were afraid to speak up?

As Harry went down the steps of the central moving staircase with Theodore and Sally-Anne, there was an angry outburst down the second-floor corridor. Harry's other year-mates had gone ahead to the common room when Harry told them to. He knew they were tired and couldn't imagine that they actually wanted to wait on him while he'd asked Professor Sinistra about the magical significance of planetary conjunctions after Astronomy class. The witch with dark skin smiled and suggested several titles to read as Harry's question was too broad to answer in the few minutes she had before her next class started.

Down the corridor, Harry and the others could hear ranting and raving; it could only be one person: the Hogwarts Caretaker.

"That's Filch," Harry said quietly, pausing at the top of the steps. He shifted his schoolbag nervously.

"You haven't… _heard_ anything yet, your Grace?" Theodore asked though he sounded as if he really meant to say something else. Sally-Anne tilted her head towards Harry curiously.

"No, nothing."

They heard Filch's screeching voice recede. Harry instinctively felt he should check what the fuss was about and hurried quietly down the hall. Neither Theodore nor Sally-Anne tried to stop him.

They poked their heads around the corner and saw that it was still empty, though they could hear Myrtle wailing. The grisly message had been removed from the wall, perhaps over the break. Their feet splashed through water.

A great flood stretched over half the corridor and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's loo. Harry shoved the door bearing the sign _OUT OF ORDER_ open, and they entered. Myrtle's wails were much louder inside as it echoed off the walls.

Sally-Anne sent a questioning look at him. Harry shrugged. He hadn't any idea what could have upset the ghost. Of course, the strange statement Myrtle had said three months ago came back to Harry. He wondered if she would yell at them again about only one of them being a girl… or would the addition of Sally-Anne make it two? What puzzled Harry was that he certainly wasn't a girl, and neither was Theodore or Professor Snape.

The trio sloshed through the water and saw the ghost leaned against the great round window above them, streaming with moonlight.

"Who's that? Come to throw something else at me?" Myrtle glugged miserably.

Harry looked up at her. "Why would I throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me! Here I am, minding my own business…" She said floating towards them. "And then someone thinks it's _funny_ to throw a book at me." Her head turned towards her usual stall as her lower lip trembled.

"But it can't hurt if someone throws a book at you," Theodore said reasonably.

"That's right," Sally-Anne agreed. "It'd just go through you."

"Sure! Let's all throw books at Myrtle because _she's_ a ghost and can't feel it!" She shrieked as she suddenly swooped at Theodore. "Ten points if you can get it through _her stomach_!" She swung her fist through Harry's abdomen. He jerked in surprise at the cold sensation. "Fifty points if it goes through _her head_!" Her hand punched through his head. Harry winced at the ice-cold not-quite-there sensation through his forehead. The watch tingled with only the slightest chill against his arm.

"What a lovely game! Ha, ha! I think _not_," she growled.

"I'm sorry, Myrtle. I had no idea how terrible it felt for a corporeal object to fly through your ectoplasm," Sally-Anne said with a commiserating tone.

"Oh, it _was_, like being struck with a hot poker…" The ghost gurgled sadly.

"Who threw it anyway?" Harry asked, trying to rub feeling back into his stomach.

"I don't know… I was just sitting in the U-bend thinking about death…" She sighed miserably. "And it fell, right through the top of my head." She bobbed her head, looking absolutely depressed about that.

"Did you see anyone at all?" Sally-Anne surveyed the bathroom as she asked.

"No."

"Not even their magical imprint?" Theodore asked.

With a great sniff, Myrtle looked at him and rocked in place. "I don't have to answer to the likes of you."

Harry couldn't stay silent any longer. "Last time I saw you, you said that 'one of us is a girl', when it was three boys."

"Maybe I was confused," she said coyly, threading a finger through her hair. She didn't look so upset now that she had company.

Harry pressed on, "But on Halloween, the only three in the bathroom were me, Theodore, and Professor Snape. We're all boys."

"Boys are always boys and girls are always girls. It's only _natural_," the ghost said with a chilling coo and then she giggled.

"What?"

"She means she's narrow-minded about those who are different," Sally-Anne said sharply. Harry had never seen such a look of disgust on her face as the one she had directed at Myrtle.

Harry's eyebrows came together in confusion.

"I am _not _narrow-minded!" Myrtle boasted. "It's one thing for a boy to like a boy or a girl to like a girl," and here behind her glasses she fluttered her eyelashes with glee, "But for a boy to want to be a girl or a girl to want to be a boy?" She laughed derisively. "Who's ever heard of such a thing?"

Harry was quite sure it wasn't alright for boys to like boys and girls to like girls. He'd been accused by Dudley of liking boys before, not that an eight-year-old Harry thought at all about dating, but he remembered his cousin's favorite slur whenever Harry cried or ran away from Dudley's mean games: Harry the Fairy.

However, this business about girls being boys and boys being girls… was not something Harry had ever heard of before.

"It's called being transgendered," Sally-Anne said steadily.

Myrtle hmphed. "Whatever you call it, I think it means _someone's_ confused about what parts they're born with." She slowly floated towards the window, the moonlight streaming right through her and hummed a lullaby to herself.

Harry looked between an unsmiling Theodore and a humming Myrtle. Did that mean that… Theodore was actually a girl who _wanted_ to be a boy?

"So, where's this book that someone threw at you?" Theodore said, nonchalantly changing the subject.

Myrtle inspected Theodore like a bug. "Why do _you_ care?"

Theodore scoffed. "Because you're very close to becoming a poltergeist like Peeves."

"_Really_? That sounds _wonderful_," she crowed. "Then I could bite back whenever someone throws something through me." Covering her mouth, the ghost flipped her transparent hair and giggled in a manner that set Harry's teeth on edge.

Sally-Anne clutched her bag protectively to her chest, her wand gripped tightly in hand. "I don't think you really _like _the idea of spending eternity stuck here, Myrtle, or else you wouldn't obsess about death all the time."

With an angry vehemence, Myrtle lunged towards her. "You hateful toad! Get out of my bathroom!"

"So, I'm right. You'd actually like to go to the beyond, but you're too scared," the brunette Slytherin said evenly. "Aren't you?"

Myrtle screamed, cracking several of the mirrors, and then her crying became louder and louder, ringing painfully off the walls. Harry clapped his hands to his ears. An intense cold filled the bathroom, causing Harry to choke on his next breath, and then the toilets and faucets turned on… except the water sprung into the air. Some of it was crystallizing into icicle-like spears, but most of it was collecting in a giant, wobbly ball of water.

"_Move!_" Theodore yelled and grabbed the both of them to shove them towards the door. A great torrent of frigid water crashed down behind them, sweeping them out of the bathroom.

Theodore quickly cast a Shield Charm just as large chunks of ice fell on top of them. A soaked Theodore then gave Sally-Anne an exasperated look. "Did you have to antagonize her?"

Tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, Sally-Anne grinned sheepishly. "Sorry… But she was being so _rude_… A transgendered individual _isn't_ confused," she said to him. Theodore smiled back.

Harry really wasn't sure what to think about someone wanting to be a different gender.

"And take this disgusting thing with you!" Myrtle's scream resonated through the hall as a small thin book was ejected from the bathroom. The bathroom door slammed shut, while Harry's eyes became fixed upon the book, which spun through the air as if time slowed. There was a strange, distant whisper as his watched its descent. After a splash, it laid in a puddle innocuously.

Sally-Anne murmured a Drying Charm over the three of them and their belongings.

Drawn towards the book with a shabby black cover, Harry was reaching for it when Theodore's hand on his shoulder snapped Harry out of his daze.

"You never know about the sorts of things people throw out." At Harry's blank look, Theodore sighed. "Could be a Dark or Cursed Object." Theodore took out his wand and cast a sequence of spells.

Still, Harry wondered about his roommate. Magic was something Harry had heard of in Muggle Fairy Tales, but this business of wanting to be the opposite gender wasn't something Harry had ever encountered before.

"You look mixed up," Sally-Anne observed.

"I don't understand. I've never heard of.. trans..."

"Transgendered," she said. "It means you're born trapped in the wrong gender. You're born a girl, but feel like a boy. Or you're born a boy, but feel like a girl."

"So, if I was born a girl, but felt the same way I do now…?" Harry shuddered at the thought; living with the Dursleys would have been hellish if they had insisted he wear only pink or put makeup on.

"Yes, exactly. It's fairly rare though, so there's a lot of misconceptions about it. You see, it's taboo in the Wizarding world to want a sex change, because the end result leaves a person infertile and unable to continue their bloodline and also because the transition itself requires a lot of complex Dark magic."

"…Ah," Harry said. "So, how do I refer to a… trans..gendered person?"

"By the gender they express themselves as," Sally-Anne said. "You treat a trans-wizard just like a wizard, and a trans-witch as a witch."

Of course, Harry would not treat Theodore any differently. To Harry, he was fully a boy, no matter what gender Theodore might have been before. That's how Harry would have liked to be treated if he'd been born a girl. "Right then. Thanks for explaining it to me," Harry said.

Sally-Anne smiled happily at him.

"Well, doesn't look as if it's cursed or booby-trapped," Theodore said, startling Harry when he shoved the book towards him. "I already dried it out with a charm. Doesn't look like anyone's used it, but the writing could be hidden."

Harry took it, feeling oddly mesmerized. There were no markings on the front, or any indication that it was used for any purpose. He flipped it open and saw that the yellowed pages were completely blank. "Why would someone throw it out?"

"I don't know," Theodore said.

Sally-Anne peered at the book in Harry's hands. "Maybe a bully tossed someone's journal out just to be mean."

Harry flipped the journal over. Printed on the back was the name of some variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. _"_Whoever bought it is Muggle-born."

"How do you figure?" Theodore hovered over his shoulder.

"Harry's right! Vauxhall Road's in Muggle London," Sally-Anne said excitedly.

"Let's take it back to the dormitory. I bet Draco'd love to take a shot at cracking it."

Harry took one last look at it and respectfully pocketed it. When they turned to head towards the dungeons, the Hogwarts Caretaker was standing in their path.

Theodore let out a loud sigh. "Here we go," he muttered.

"So it was _you _who flooded the corridor?" Filch's eyes glared murderously at them. "Follow me, Potter! Nott! Perks!"

The three Slytherins were led down the stairs to Filch's dingy little office, where manacles adorned the walls behind his desk. There were cabinets labeled with student names; Fred and George Weasley had one large drawer all to themselves. There was even a cabinet labeled _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_. Harry thought that would just tempt students to look inside. He wondered if it was rigged with curses.

Filch's swearing was low-grade compared to what Harry heard spew weekly from his fellow students' lips. The man retrieved a blank form, muttering to himself about making an example of them. "_Name_… Harry Potter, Theodore Nott, and Sally-Anne Perks. _Crime_…"

"We didn't flood the corridor. We heard you carrying on and wanted to find out why Myrtle was wailing and causing a mess," Harry said, insistently.

"Is that so?" Filch peered at them nastily. He didn't look like he believed Harry at all. "You may Petrify my Kneazle and get away with it, but you won't escape punishment that's due!"

"Sir, someone threw something at Myrtle. She's rather terribly upset," Sally-Anne said.

"_Crime_… upsetting the resident ghost in the second-floor girl's bathroom and causing a mess… _suggested sentence_…" Filch squinted at them as they waited for him to decide what sort of detention he'd give.

There was a great BANG! on the ceiling of his office, and the oil lamp hanging above them rattled and flickered.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, throwing down his quill. "I'll have you this time! I'll have you!" The Caretaker ran flat-footed out of his office, slamming his door open. He shrieked down the hall, following a cackle.

"Well, that was _lucky_ of us, your Grace," Theodore said looking at Harry peculiarly.

"_That_ was not my fault," Harry said defensively.

"Let's go before he comes back," Sally-Anne said as she gestured for them to follow her.

Harry's roommate stopped and peered at something on the desk next to them. "Wait a tick—what is _this_?" Theodore opened the envelope more fully. "Why, it's marks from a Kwikspell course! But why would Filch… Oh, _of course_!"

"What?" Harry said looking around him. Judging by the scores, Filch was absolutely dreadful at whatever he was supposed to be learning through correspondence.

"_Come on_," Sally-Anne hissed.

Theodore closed it and carefully returned it to its place.

They snuck out quickly and headed down the corridor. The portrait-hole to the Slytherin dungeons wasn't far away.

Harry swore he heard a girl giggle, but when he turned and looked no one was there. "So what did you find out, Theo?"

"The Hogwarts Caretaker is a Squib."

"How do you know that by looking at his correspondence?"

"Only Squibs and magical folk with very little magic would even think of taking a Kwikspell course," Sally-Anne answered.

"Yeah," Theodore agreed. "It's better to learn from someone in person, but if you're so embarrassed by your lack of ability… the humiliation is enough to drive people to waste their Galleons on Kwikspell courses that won't teach them anything."

"Oh." The ramifications of living in the Wizarding world without magic had not really occurred to Harry. He thought that, like Mrs. Figgs and Sally-Anne's parents, all Squibs lived in the Muggle world quietly. To know that Mr. Filch chose to stay in the Wizarding world even without a decent scrap of magic… well, Harry thought that was terribly brave of the adult, refusing to be cowed by students who could hex him.

"I haven't ever seen him pull out a wand or use magic, have you?" Theodore added.

Both Sally-Anne and Harry shook their heads.

Then, they were in front of the portrait of the thin woman. "Password?" She asked brusquely.

"_Boomslang skin_," Theodore answered and the portrait swung open.

Harry blinked. Had Snape noticed that his stores were not all accounted for…?

"Potter. My office, now," Professor Snape's voice called from across the common room.

Harry gulped.

"Good luck, your Grace," Sally-Anne whispered. Harry felt a pang of annoyance and wished they'd stop calling him that.

"What'd you do this time, Scarhead?" Draco jeered from his usual spot on the couch by the fireplace, next to Crabbe and Goyle.

"Sod off, Draco," Harry said, much preferring the nickname. They laughed. He entered Professor Snape's office and shut the door behind him. Harry was surprised that he was as calm as he was.

"Have you finished the essay?"

Harry was nearly weak with relief. So, his guardian hadn't learned about the stolen potions ingredients. "I still need five pawns, a knight, and a rook, sir."

Professor Snape held out a hand.

Digging the scroll out of his schoolbag, Harry passed it to him. His guardian unwound it, reading it with intense interest. Harry shifted on his feet.

"Why have you considered no other adults besides the only one in Hogwarts who owns a broken wand?" Snape asked smoothly after he finished reading.

"I… er…" Harry flustered. "I didn't want to presume, sir."

"You didn't want to presume that you could trust either the headmaster or your own guardian?" Snape's tone was severe as he re-rolled the scroll.

Harry stared at the floor. "I don't really trust adults, sir."

"I expect you to stop dragging your feet and have this completed by mid-February. You will not watch another Quidditch match until you have done so. You are to include others outside of your house and any professors you believe would be of use to you. Even someone as useless as Lockhart has their place among your chess pieces."

"Even _him_?" Harry couldn't believe that Snape had suggested that… Gilderoy Lockhart could be _useful_.

"With the right amount of coaxing, you could have that idiot wrapped around your little finger," Snape said, handing his essay back. "He goes out of his way to remain in your _celebrity_ presence, begging favors or attention from you."

So, _that's_ why Harry had consistently been harassed the moment he lowered his guard… Harry gagged. He swallowed down the bile and put the scroll away.

"Yes, I struggle with that same reaction daily," Snape consoled with a nasty tone. "Now, many of your professors have expressed their concern that you haven't sought help to stop Lockhart's harassment. I suggest you be more proactive and engage him before the Deputy Headmistress feels it is necessary to instate an investigation into the perceived misconduct of Professor Lockhart with an Underage student."

Harry blinked at him feeling dumb. Perceived misconduct…?

"Now then." Snape steepled his fingers. "As I've been very busy, I haven't properly thanked you for the Christmas gift I received."

"Your reaction was thanks enough." Only when Snape's dark eyes flashed dangerously did Harry think that perhaps he had said the wrong thing.

"_How_ would you use this situation to your benefit?" Snape said with an oily tone that precluded a wrathful lecture.

Harry froze, wondering what he had done. "Er. I wouldn't, sir."

An angry tic started under Snape's right eye.

"I-I," Harry stammered, "I guess you would… owe me one…? Sir."

Snape's fingers dropped to the table and flattened. He stood slowly, glaring at Harry. His black eyes pierced through him. "Such as _not_ expelling Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger from Hogwarts for setting off a firecracker during my class or… _stealing_ the Restricted and hard-to-get ingredients from my potions store or… perhaps, using Polyjuice Potion to illegally impersonate Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle?"

Harry's fingers were icy and his heart was threatening to pound right out of his chest.

"Well? Would we be considered _even_ were I to give your Gryffindor '_mates'_ a free pass?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly, exhaling. "Sir," he quickly added.

"You have detention for the next week," Snape said as he re-took his seat.

"What for?!"

"To ensure that you finish the essay I've assigned in a timely manner." Snape waved his hand towards the door. "Go."

Obediently Harry left, feeling awful. He'd just used the Christmas gift he'd given to his guardian as a bribe to keep two fellow students from being expelled. While he was glad that Hermione would remain at Hogwarts, Harry still thought it was wrong. He hadn't meant his gift to be used in that way. He should have kept to his principles… but then they would have been expelled if he hadn't, wouldn't they? Snape never made empty threats.

Needing a moment to himself away from Draco and Theodore, Harry went to the Slytherin boys' communal bathroom, which was empty other than for the few students relieving themselves. In a stall, he raked a hand through his hair. No, he really should have stuck with his principles. Dumbledore would have interceded and prevented Snape from expelling the two Gryffindors… Harry was sure of it. Why didn't he remember that before? He sighed at himself for being so easily tricked. Wanting a distraction, he took the book out and sat on the lid of the wooden toilet seat.

Lazily, he flipped through the yellow parchment between the black leather covers, finding absolutely nothing written in it. He closed it and inspected the shabby cover at different angles and saw that it had T. M. Riddle inscribed on the jacket. The metallic lettering must have faded over time.

"Why would Riddle throw you out?" Harry whispered to himself. That name _almost_ seemed familiar. He tried to remember where he had heard it…

Someone eeped in the stall next to him and banged the door shut in his hurry to run out of the bathroom.

Deciding he'd spent enough time dawdling, Harry shoved the journal back into his pocket and headed upstairs.

Crabbe and Goyle were playing Gobstones, something similar to Marbles except the stones spat disgusting fluid whenever someone lost a point, while Draco and Theodore were having a heated debate over something.

Harry walked across the room to his desk and sat down, scooping up the red, rubber eraser he'd received for Christmas. Opening the journal, he rubbed the Revealer on a blank page. Nothing happened. Flipping to another page, Harry tried again. Absolutely nothing.

"Is _this_ the journal Nott was telling me about?" Draco asked, reaching for it.

Blocking Draco from touching it, Harry looked at him. "Yes. It's mine."

"Can I try a few spells to force it to divulge its secrets, your Grace?"

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at Draco, Harry leaned back. "Go on."

Draco tapped the page. "_Aparecium!_"

Nothing happened.

"_Emergem Privatus!"_

Still nothing.

"And finally," Draco said. "_Secerinetus Revelio!_"

The book slapped shut and glowed a moment with a jagged purple scar across the front of the cover which then faded like a ghost.

"Strange. That usually works," Draco said.

Disappointed, Harry curled his fingers protectively around the journal. "Thanks for trying. I'll figure it out."

"Whatever was written on its pages has probably been wiped clean," Draco said as put his wand away. "I certainly would before I threw a grubby thing like that out."

Harry picked up the journal and began to flip absently through the pages.

There was something comforting about holding the journal in his hands… like meeting a close friend after a long time apart…

In the middle of the night, while the rest of his roommates slept, Harry slipped past his bed curtains and crept over to his desk to pick up the journal.

He couldn't explain why he suddenly wanted to write in it, but he wasn't going to ignore the urge. Harry took the Self-Inking Quill Sally-Anne had given him and climbed back in bed. After making sure the bed curtains overlapped, Harry opened the journal in complete darkness and pulled his wand out from under his pillow. "_Lumos_," he whispered.

He picked the journal up one-handed, flipping through the pages like it was a story he wanted to finish even though he already knew that all the pages were blank. The other queer thing was that Harry felt like he should _know_ the name Riddle, though he was equally certain he'd never met another student at Hogwarts with that last name before.

Taking the quill, he held it upright above the blank page.

"_Dictus_," he ordered. He released the quill and it floated with its feather straight up. "My name is Harry Potter," he whispered.

The quill dipped down, writing out his spoken words in flowery script. The wet ink was there for a moment and then… simply _vanished_.

Harry felt a little shiver at that.

And then, ink welled up from the page like black ooze. In his very own ink came words Harry had never dictated, in a much more stylistic script.

"_Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"_

This was Dark magic. Harry didn't have to understand how the journal was doing what it was doing to know that. And it frightened him.

Tom's words faded from the page.

"_Finite Incantatem._" The quill flopped down, and Harry slammed the diary shut on it. No wonder someone had tried to flush it down the toilet.

He thought he might give it to Professor Snape… However, he didn't want to hand it over to his guardian only to be disparaged for not recognizing a harmless Enchanted Object. Harry would need evidence of its inherent danger before he brought it to Snape's attention. He didn't want to be proved wrong, and at the moment his instinct was giving him conflicting advice. Harry simultaneously felt that it would be very good thing to keep it and also very bad.

Puzzled, he shoved the journal under his pillow next to his Cloak of Invisibility and curled under the covers. Unsurprisingly, Harry hardly slept at all.


	13. Lockhart's St Valentine's Day

_**Author's notes: **I love how politically motivated the Slytherins get with Harry around. I think I was inspired from a fic, but I can't remember the name of it.  
_

* * *

The next morning dawned with weak sunlight. Harry dressed himself and shoved the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket and the journal into his schoolbag. He didn't want to leave either of them lying around where anyone might discover them.

As weeks went by without any more attacks, the mood had grown more hopeful at Hogwarts. Professor Sprout had been pleased to report at breakfast that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, which meant they were fast leaving childhood.

Perhaps whoever had opened the Chamber of Secrets had lost their nerve, Harry thought. It must be too risky opening it with everyone in the school so alert and suspicious. Maybe the basilisk even now was settling down to hibernate…

Unfortunately, it did nothing to stop the rumors about Harry. Two factions had formed, both believing he was the Heir of Slytherin. Proud To Be Slytherin was entirely comprised of young Slytherins—since fifth years and older abstained from joining—who believed he was the next Dark Lord and savior of the Wizarding world, while the other, Down With Potter, was mostly filled with Gryffindors who thought he was the next Grindelwald.

Thank Merlin for the Weasley twins. In retaliation to both factions, they started their own impromptu fan club: Parselmouth Potter's Pleasant Pals. Their mission was to mock everyone who took the rumors too seriously. Strangely enough, everyone who didn't believe Harry was the Heir of Slytherin was roped into joining them. It certainly helped that Prefect Dresden proudly wore her PP's PP membership badge right beside her prefect badge. When she joined, loads of Ravenclaws followed, much to Harry's surprise.

The only house that seemed severely divided over the choices was Hufflepuff.

Ernest 'Ernie' MacMillan, a second-year Hufflepuff and friend of Justin Finch-Fletchley, was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one as there was no way to reproduce Parseltongue other than being born with the ability. He and others were part of the Down With Potter group.

Peeves also wasn't helping matters. He kept popping up everywhere singing, "Oh Potter, you rotter! Oh, what have you done? You're killing off students! You think it's great _fun_!" packaged with a dance routine.

Harry fervently wished the nasty rumors and their suspicion would all go away, even though he knew wishing never did anything for him besides the occasional outburst of accidental magic.

While the Slytherins were queuing up to go to lunch after Defense Against the Dark Arts, Lockhart tapped his nose and winked at them. "I don't think there'll be any more trouble, my dear students!" As if he had something to do with stopping the attacks. "The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now before that happened," Lockhart looked directly at Harry and smiled broadly.

Harry felt ill and thoroughly incensed at the same time, which he easily attributed to his DADA instructor. He couldn't imagine manipulating the adult by encouraging his behavior.

Gilderoy Lockhart led the class of second-year Slytherins towards the Great Hall, still blathering on, "I think the whole school needs a morale-booster… yes! To wash away the foul memories of the last term!"

As the Slytherins quickly made it to their long table, Lockhart strode down the middle of the Great Hall up to the High Table. He spoke at length to Dumbledore and then excused himself.

Harry almost dreaded the thought of what Lockhart was planning. Whatever it was, would likely be frivolous and extremely aggravating and would somehow force students to participate.

He didn't have to wait long. At breakfast the next day, when he strolled into the Great Hall with his year-mates, Harry had thought they'd gone through the wrong doors.

The walls were covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still was the blue ceiling that had been charmed to have heart-shaped confetti fall. At least it wasn't real, or Harry would have been thoroughly annoyed when he had to pick it out of his hair and clothes.

"Check out what the twit's wearing," Draco said.

Lockhart was wearing robes that matched the pink decorations all around them. On Dumbledore, it would have simply looked festive; Lockhart made his choice of dress look as if the celebration were all about him.

Once the students had seated and the Great Hall was full, Lockhart stood and waved for silence. The teachers on either side of him were stony-faced. Professor Snape in particular looked disgusted. Harry wouldn't have liked to sit by Lockhart at every meal, either.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the ninety-six students who have, so far, sent me cards! Luckily for all of you, the surprise I've arranged doesn't end here!"

Students' groans collectively filled the Great Hall.

"Yes, wonderful, I know!" Lockhart raised his hands and clapped them together slowly as if he were a bloody king summoning servants to him.

A dozen surly-looking dwarves walked in. They were all wearing golden wings and carrying golden harps. Harry couldn't help his surprised chortle at the look of them.

Prefect Gilbert Van Tellwyenth, who had claimed dwarf blood in his bloodline, slammed his goblet onto the table, and the sniggering Slytherins around Harry shushed.

"These are my friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart beamed at the occupants of the hall as if he expected praise. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines!" Many girls and some boys sighed and clapped excitedly at the Slytherin table, though they were far fewer in number compared to the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

"And the fun doesn't stop there!"

Harry rubbed his face with a hand, wishing the 'fun' would end this instant.

"I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion!" Lockhart lightly patted Snape's shoulder; the glare he received for daring to touch the Potions professor could strip paint from a car. Yet, Lockhart hadn't seemed to have caught it as he raised both his hands to gesture them excitedly as he continued prattling on, "Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion!"

Brushing off the previously-touched shoulder lightly, Snape looked as though the first person to ask him would be poisoned and left to an excruciating death.

"Or ask Professor Flitwick about Entrancing Enchantments! He knows more about them than any wizard I've met, the sly old dog!" Lockhart yelled, gesticulating wildly at the professor on the other side of the High Table. The very same Charms professor who had buried his face in his hands in abject humiliation.

"This is going to be the longest day of the term," Sally-Anne groused next to Harry.

"Yeah," Harry said with a commiserating tone.

There was a noise, and suddenly a group of Slytherins were surrounding someone. Harry stood up trying to look around the crowd.

"What's going on?" Draco demanded.

"Parkinson's fainted!" A first year said anxiously. Harry moved through the group without any trouble, since the other Slytherins moved for him.

"Move aside!" cried Head Girl Pitts at Davis and Greengrass. As soon as she was across from Harry, she placed a hand over Parkinson's mouth and nose. "She's still breathing," the seventh year said with a roll of her eyes. Taking out her wand, the Head Girl cast, "_Rennervate_!", the second year jolted upright blinking blearily. "Alright there, Parkinson?" Pitts asked, leaning close to her face to look at her eyes.

"Oh, did I faint?" She said breathlessly.

"She's fine," Pitts announced as Professor Snape appeared beside them. "I believe Miss Parkinson fainted from overexcitement."

"Might I suggest that you _not_ idolize a liar and a cheat so wantonly as to forget to breathe," their professor told Pansy Parkinson darkly. "Falsifying one's ability and stealing credit for others' work leads to an inevitable fall from fame, glory, and power, if any has been achieved at all."

With a sharp look at Harry and the other Slytherins, Professor Snape returned to the High Table, leaving Parkinson in a petulant mood.

Harry could not fathom why so many people held Lockhart in such high esteem if he was a liar, a cheat, and a fraud, but he also remembered Greengrass' warning not to confront the adult about it.

"He's not a liar and a cheat," Parkinson mumbled under her breath.

"Oh, yes he is," Greengrass muttered, though she had turned away from her friends as she said it.

* * *

All day long, the dwarves kept barging into their classes and lessons to deliver valentines. Professor McGonagall was so very annoyed that she turned the fourth dwarf to interrupt her into a pig. After a long lecture at the tiny pig about never disturbing her class again, she Transfigured the dwarf to his original self, and the dwarf ran out without another word. Suffice it to say, there were no more interruptions after that. Unfortunately, a slew of them were waiting patiently to deliver their valentines when the second-year Slytherins were dismissed.

Unlike his fellow year-mates, Harry had so far escaped any such messages. Until he was in the worst possible place for one, surrounded by Hogwarts students.

"'Arry Potter," a particularly grim-looking dwarf called out, elbowing his way through the crowd. "I've got a musical message to deliver to you." He twanged his harp in a hostile manner.

"Might want to stop and listen before you anger a dwarf," Theodore commented quietly.

"What if I don't want the valentine?" Harry hissed, not frightened at all.

The surprisingly sprightly dwarf grabbed him by his bag, and the left strap snapped. The bag swung off his shoulder spilling its contents onto the floor. His books, parchment, scrolls, and quills dropped out; followed by an ink bottle of scarlet color that smashed over everything.

Frantic, Harry scrambled to his knees. Theodore waved his wand over the ink-stained parchment to siphon the scarlet ink into the ink bottle he had already repaired. Harry grabbed his things and shoved them into his schoolbag. It caused something of a hold-up in the corridor as Theodore knelt next to him, attempting to help and doing the exact opposite.

"Here is your singing valentine," the dwarf said and sat on Harry's ankles.

"Oi!" Harry yelped out.

"Told ya," Theodore said with the tone of a person who had also suffered the same fate.

"_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.  
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."_

He wanted to evaporate on the spot. After the dwarf let him up, Harry's feet were tingly as he got unsteadily to his feet and laughed along with his housemates. The repaired, refilled inkwell was clutched tightly in his fist as he scoured the corridor for the diary.

"A _freshly pickled toad_?" Draco guffawed. "Sounds like an ickle first year has a crush on you, Harry!"

Harry snorted at him and continued looking for the diary among the verticals of student legs standing around him. He sensed it was nearby…

"What're you looking for?" A shy voice asked.

He looked and saw Ginny Weasley tucking her hair behind an ear. "A journal."

"You mean the journal you found in Myrtle's toilet?" Theodore said next to him.

"What's it look like?" Ginny asked; her green stare suddenly blistering in intensity.

Before Harry could tell her, Draco jeered, "Look everyone! Potter's got a new Gryffindor girlfriend! Soon enough, he'll have a whole harem of Lionesses!"

Crabbe and Goyle predictably laughed, while Ginny's face turned beet red.

"I don't have a girlfriend, Draco!" Harry shouted.

"See? I don't think Harry liked your valentine much!" Draco jibed at her nastily.

Poor, mortified Ginny Weasley covered her face and ran through the watching students who were silently standing around them. Harry quite suddenly realized he had hurt Ginny's feelings with his thoughtless defense. Harry's hand found his wand and yanked it out before he thought about it. Theodore didn't say a word as he stepped back as Harry's unannounced second.

Showing his empty hands, Draco stared him down and then his eyes slowly and deliberately dropped to the ground. "Would you _really_ attack me without a wand in hand? That wouldn't be very _sporting_ of you."

Oh, how he wanted to… Harry's hand tightened on his wand as he thought about it. The talking around him intensified as the students still watching speculated if the Down With Potter group had been right all along.

Harry couldn't do it and dropped his wand to point at the floor, while Draco smiled.

"What's all this commotion?!" Prefect Weasley's voice called out. "Off you go, off you go! The bell rang five minutes ago!"

Quickly re-holstering his wand before the prefect saw it, Harry finally spotted the journal; unfortunately Draco was nearest to it and had seen Harry reach for it.

"You kept this old thing?" Draco said after blocking Harry with a side-step and plucked Riddle's journal off the ground. He flipped it open. "What's the point in keeping a diary if you aren't going to write in it?"

"_Malfoy_, you and your housemates need to get a move on," Percy Weasley said sternly.

"As you wish, Prefect _Weasley_," Draco's voice dripped disrespect. The prefect did not reprimand him since Draco had already turned down a different corridor.

"You too, Potter, Nott. No more dawdling or I'll deduct House points," the prefect said snootily.

Once they were out of hearing, Theodore said, "That could have gone better, your Grace."

When they turned the corner, Draco was waiting with Crabbe and Goyle. "Not going to challenge me to retain honor for the Weasley girl?" Draco said calmly, surprisingly without a sneer.

"I want my journal back. Do you want a favor owed, Draco?" Harry said simply as he had no intention of pushing his luck in dueling against his housemate.

"I want to use my favorite curse word, your Grace," Draco answered.

Harry shook his head. "You have to beat me at a duel to regain that privilege. You can ask me for anything else."

"I would like the book Theodore gave you two Christmases ago."

Having read it front to back at least four times, Harry was fairly sure he didn't need it any longer. "Once we get back to the dorms, I'll give you the book by Murloch in exchange for my journal," he promised. He slowly offered his hand towards Draco.

The leather-bound journal was thrust into Harry's awaiting palm. "You ought to keep it in a safe place if your Grace doesn't want someone to pick it up."

Harry took it gratefully, feeling more at ease now that it was back in his possession. "Don't pick on Ginny or I really will hex you."

Draco snorted. "You get high marks for blood purity. However, a lion is a lion. If you want a proper match you really ought to look to your own house."

With a large sigh, Harry placed the worn journal into his bag. "I'm not interested in dating, Draco… And even if I was, I wouldn't ask _you _for advice."

His roommate lifted his hands in a classic shrug and then swept away from Harry and Theodore. "Come, Crabbe, Goyle."

The two lumbering second years followed obediently.

"I guess Draco's never heard of the Opalescent Lionsnake," Theodore said with a grin.

"What about them?" Harry remembered Theodore mentioning that they were Dark creatures.

"They're only _the_ most loyal animal companion known to the Wizard World, hence their common name. You have to breed a Polychromatic Saw-Ridge with a Spiny-Beak Cockerel, which is tricky business since they are so intent on killing one another upon sighting each other."

"Breeding a bird… with a snake?"

Theodore blinked once at Harry and then wiggled his fingers. "Behold, your Grace! _The Wonders of Magic!_" His fingers spread out in a showy manner like a Muggle street performer who did 'magic' tricks.

"Oh, do shut up," Harry growled.

His friend chuckled in turn.

Meanwhile, Harry had thought that he'd seen the first and last valentine he would ever receive. Unfortunately, it was not so. Harry had another three valentines after that, though not in rapid succession.

"_You're so fine, I'll make you mine.  
I will pine, 'til end of time."_

"Oh, dear Harry, pop my cherry.  
Love me, fairy. Can't we marry?"

_"We're yours to tease, Won't you please  
Take our keys, And… seize!"_

Harry wasn't sure what to make of them, but his fellow Slytherins thought they were hilarious. "You've got a couple of secret admirers. My bet's Gryffindor," Theodore said through a grin. Not liking the faceless teasing, Harry glumly agreed that all three were likely written by the same person as the cadence and rhyming scheme alluded. He certainly didn't think any of the Slytherins would have written them…

It was the last one that held the biggest clue as to the author(s) of the bunch. If the valentines were created by collaboration, Harry strongly suspected the Weasley twins as they had notably been present by the sound of their howling laughter each time a burly dwarf had delivered a valentine.

He wondered why they had decided to send them now when they could have sent them earlier…

By the time he finished the day with an hour's worth of detention with Professor Snape, Harry was bushed. Regardless, he dug the _Useful Dark Artifacts: Ancient and Modern_ book from his trunk and gave it to an entirely too eager Draco. Then Harry went downstairs to clean himself up and re-entered his shared room to collapse onto the comfortable bed.

That night, Harry woke up again unable to fall back asleep. He took out the Self-Inking Quill from the table next to his bed and pulled the journal out from under his pillow. He lit the end of his wand and flipped through the pages once more.

He whispered the spell at the quill and let it stand patiently on the blank page. "Tom, what are you?" He breathed out. The Restricted book he had given to Draco had never described a Dark Object such as the journal.

The Self-Inking quill dutifully wrote out his question, and then the words faded from the blank page.

"_I am a memory of a sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student from fifty years ago. I wanted to create something of myself that would be more lasting than **ink**." _The bolded word was in scarlet. The same color as the ink that had spilled on Harry's things in the corridor.

"Are you a Muggle-born?" Harry's words had faded for a long moment. As the seconds ticked by, Harry thought he had offended the journal. "Sorry. It's none of my business. What house were you in?"

_"Slytherin," _came the terse reply.

"I'm in Slytherin, too," Harry said quickly. "Do you know who threw you into a toilet?"

_"The last person I spoke to was a first year named Ginny Weasley." _Harry frowned, remembering the intensely focused look on her face in the hallway before she'd run off. Staring at the page, Harry watched the line of ink fade away and then a new one formed. "_I thought for sure that you were frightened by me as she had been. It's been lonely having no one to talk to for so long."_

So that's what had happened, that's why she threw the journal away, Harry thought. Comprehension of why Riddle's name had been so familiar flashed into Harry's mind. The Special Services Award that Hermione and Ron had discovered had been given to a student _fifty_ years ago. _That's_ where he'd remembered Riddle's name from! "Riddle, I saw your award for Special Services to the school in the Trophy Room… was it related to the Chamber of Secrets?"

The journal didn't respond for a long moment. "_In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie."_ Harry's black ink ran red. "_In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, until it succeeded in killing one. I knew Rubeus Hagrid wasn't the true culprit, but the headmaster then, Professor Dippet, forbade me to tell the truth. They gave me a nice shiny trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. Some pixie-made story of the Muggle-born dying from a freak accident was given to her parents. But I knew it could happen again since the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned._"

Because of what Draco told him, he already knew that Hagrid had been expelled because of it. Harry frowned. "Everyone knows the Chamber of Secrets is no legend. There's even a basilisk rumored to be in it, Riddle. Er… could I call you Tom?"

"_If I might call you, Harry."_ Harry could practically hear the dry tone of the journal.

"Tom, there've been three attacks already. Do you know who could have opened the Chamber of Secrets this time?"

"_A Parselmouth, of course."_

Obviously it couldn't be Voldemort doing it, even though he was the only other Parselmouth that Harry was aware of. Besides, Dobby said it wasn't that evil wizard's doing. So who did that leave? Harry nibbled on his lower lip, wondering if he should tell the journal that he'd been blamed for opening the Chamber this time around.

When Harry didn't immediately dictate anything, red ink welled up again. This time the words looked strange. Harry rubbed his eyes thinking they weren't focusing correctly. "_You aren't a Parselmouth, are you?_"

"Why does that matter?" Harry said hotly after Tom's words had disappeared. The Quill quickly wrote his words.

Black ink welled up again. "_You_ **_are_. **_Might **you** be the one opening the Chamber of Secrets_**?**"

With great self-control, Harry bit off his retort. "Do you know where the Chamber of Secrets is?" He whispered at the quill.

"_Yes, I discovered where it was. I meant for this journal to be passed among the Slytherins to make sure that the Chamber's power was never released again. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that nearly four decades had passed since someone last wrote to me and that it was a **Gryffindor** no less!"_

Harry sensed frustration and loneliness from the scarlet-tinged black lines across the page. For a second time, Harry wondered how _alive_ Enchanted objects really were. "I want to catch the culprit, and no, it's not me, even if everyone thinks so because I'm a Parselmouth and in Slytherin."

_"Then, let me help you, Harry,"_ Tom silently pleaded with his slanted writing.

"Why?"

"_Hogwarts was the only place that felt like home. I know that many students both past and present feel the same as I. I don't want to see such a grand school shut its doors for the last time because students were being attacked!"_

"I know what you mean."

"_Do you?"_ Tom's words seemed angry for some reason. "_If you have anywhere to to go outside of Hogwarts, you don't."_

"That's how I was like last year, before Professor Snape agreed to be my legal guardian. I hated the Dursleys."

_"Why were you with them? I thought your family name was **Potter**."_

"My parents are dead. My mother's Muggle sister took me in just so she could treat me like a house-elf."

"_You and I are similar then. My parents were both dead by the time I was seven. I didn't have any surviving relatives, so I was raised in a Muggle orphanage. They were savages, the lot of them. I often was locked in a room by myself and went without food when I did something… odd._"

Maybe _this_ was what Harry had been feeling: a sense of camaraderie. However, his instinct, the very same that hadn't liked the Bewitched Ford Anglia, made it known that something was off about this situation too, momentarily overpowering the good feeling Harry had about the journal. "I've got to go, Tom. I have Quidditch practice early tomorrow morning."

"_Rest well, Harry_."

Harry closed the journal with the quill in it and stuck the old book under his pillow. "_Nox_."

He fell asleep.


	14. The Chamber of Secrets

_**Author's notes: **We have reached the climax of the story. Hurrah! I was very surprised by how it turned out.  
_

* * *

Harry half-wished he hadn't found out how to work Tom's diary. It had been nearly four months now since the last attack by the basilisk. Tom had shared more of himself with Harry, his likes and dislikes, how he was fantastic at Potions and other Dark Arts. Harry thought he was a very amiable fellow, yet he still didn't share as much as Tom shared with him. Something felt wrong, but Harry couldn't put his finger on what that was.

A week ago, Harry had finished the scroll on chess pieces and handed it to his guardian. Professor Snape seemed pleased that both he and Professor Dumbledore had been placed on Harry's virtual chess board, as a rook and knight respectively. Snape had even asked for verbal clarification on the five other pawns: Padma Patil, Gilderoy Lockhart, Julianne Dresden, and Fred and George Weasley. Once the interrogation was over, Harry was just glad to be done with the ungraded assignment so he was done with detention and was able to watch the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match that weekend. Hufflepuff actually won for the first time that Harry had seen, all thanks to Seeker Diggory's quick reflexes and keen eyesight.

In the meantime, nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally gotten bored of his song and dance routine and was terrorizing the first years as usual.

Unfortunately, Draco's complaints to his father about the Petrified Muggle-borns had been heard; Harry had been filled with dread when Headmaster Dumbledore had been removed from his post by a unanimous decision by the school governors. Even worse, poor Hagrid had been carted off to Azakaban again. Harry supposed he should have been happy that _he _wasn't the one being dragged off to Wizard prison, but he hated the thought of Hagrid going there without any real proof that he had had a hand in the two students' Petrifications. It wasn't fair.

Ever since, Harry felt sick with worry, while Draco seemed quite happy that the two adults had both been kicked off Hogwarts' grounds.

It was March. The Gryffindors were matched against the Hufflepuffs in a few weeks. If the Lions lost by a large enough point margin, the Quidditch cup would practically belong to the Slytherins.

Double Herbology class was going well despite the loud party the Mandrakes were having a greenhouse over from theirs. Professor Sprout seemed quite happy with the hoopla.

"The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots we'll know they're fully mature," she told the class. "Then we'll be able to revive those who were Petrified in the infirmary!"

The Ravenclaws clapped, but some of the Slytherins looked a little annoyed by that.

After class as Harry and the other second-year Slytherins walked back to Hogwarts after several Cleaning Charms, Draco said, "I wish the Heir of Slytherin would do another Muggle-born in or else his supporters might start losing faith in him!"

Harry ignored the taunt. He hadn't heard the basilisk once since the previous term. He was rather looking forward to Easter holiday that would soon be upon them.

Besides, he had other things to worry about. Harry and the other Slytherins in his year would soon be choosing their subjects for their third year at Hogwarts.

Draco had been of the opinion that only Potions really mattered; Theodore suggested Ancient Runes, while Sally-Anne told Harry that a strong base in Arithmancy helped with nonverbal, or wordless, magic.

He was curious about those courses but noticed that other ones were available as well, like Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. It was too bad he couldn't take them all. Snape had told the second years to pick three of the new courses to go with their standard program of Herbology, Potions, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Astronomy, and Transfigurations classes. Harry was all-around uncertain.

It was the following night, the night before the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, that he finally asked Tom for his opinion.

_"Unless you're a seer or have a gift of Prophecy, Divination, Astrology, and Numerology are a waste of time. And Muggle Studies, well, what do **you** need that for if you were raised among Muggles? Stick with your core classes and add on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. The Runic Arts is a very fascinating field of magical study especially given its cross-field uses."_

"What about Care of Magical Creatures?"

_"I suppose if you're creating your own stock of potion ingredients that could be useful to take as well_."

"Thanks, Tom."

"_Harry…?"_

_"_Yes?"

Tom didn't say anything for a long time.

"Is something the matter?" Harry asked, watching the Self-Inking Quill write his question.

_ "Well… I want to lead you to the Chamber of Secrets, but I didn't press it because I like talking to you and was afraid that you'd abandon me."_

Harry could well understand Tom's fear. He couldn't imagine being left inside a book without outside contact.

_"You're not angry, are you?"_

"No, I understand."

There was a pause and then scarlet ink began to ooze up. _"May I **show** you where the Chamber of Secrets is?_"

"Show me? What do you mean?"

"_I can take you inside my memory_._ It would be easier than describing the place to you."_

"Alright," Harry whispered at his Self-Inking quill.

The pages suddenly flipped noisily to '_October 24th'_. A bright crack appeared in the centerfold of the journal. Wondering what that was about Harry leaned forward.

The crack widened into a window Harry couldn't quite see through, and then he felt his body leave the bed. He pitched headfirst through the page in a whirl of bright light and shadows.

His feet hit solid ground and he straightened, feeling suddenly anxious. Blurred shapes around him, like ink in water, spread out and then came into sudden focus.

"The girl died here," a boy with jet-black hair like Harry's said to himself as he walked around Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He circled around the sinks and stopped by a stall.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked tentatively. "Are you Tom Riddle?"

The tall boy turned, revealing his Slytherin prefect badge, and stared at the sinks. He turned each one off and on and then found that one of them was not connected to water. He inspected the spigot. He straightened. "Avery!"

A muscular and tanned boy with brown hair and blue eyes stepped over to the sink. "What is it?"

"I want you to open this. You see here? There are tiny snakes etched into the faucet."

Shooting him a puzzled look, Avery leaned forward and said with perfect inflection, "_Open_."

Suddenly the sink moved back and sunk to the ground. A grate covered it. Behind it was a large black hole.

"Pipes," Tom said. "There are pipes all over the school! That's how it gets around, that clever beast." His tone sounded similar to Parkinson's when she spoke about Stela.

The scene whirled around Harry, and he felt himself get pulled backwards. With a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his bed. Riddle's diary lying open on his stomach.

"_Harry_, practice your spellwork when we're aren't all trying to sleep," Draco's acidic voice crankily cracked out.

"Sorry," Harry whispered quietly.

A grumble was all Harry heard. Closing the journal, Harry kept it in his hands. He wanted to keep writing to Tom. It was almost a compulsion, like how he wanted to keep visiting the Mirror of Erised in the previous year. Compulsions were not a good thing. That was when Harry decided he would hand it over to Professor Snape after he woke up that morning.

Closing his eyes, he fell asleep, still clutching it.

* * *

Theodore shook him awake. "You'll be late to the match if you don't get up, your Grace!"

Groaning, Harry groggily sat up. He had the strangest idea that he was going to do something that morning and that it wasn't anything Quidditch-related.

"I can't believe you've slept so much. Are you alright?"

"Yes. Don't fret; I don't feel sick," Harry said as he stood up sluggishly and put on his glasses. "Hang on… where's my diary?"

"That old thing you fished off the Myrtle's floor?"

Harry frowned. There was something else he was supposed to be remembering to do. "Yes."

"Haven't the foggiest idea."

Wiggling off his bed, Harry got to his knees to check to see if it'd fallen underneath the bed.

"Anyway, I don't want to rush you, your Grace, but you'll miss the kick-off at this rate."

Having only half an ear on the conversation, Harry looked around growing increasingly panicked. The diary wasn't there, nor was it under his pillow or by the table. Where was it? Only taking a moment to throw on his outer robes, Harry stumbled down the stairs as Theodore continued to jabber next to him.

The common room was empty.

There was a grinding noise over by the far corner. "_Kill this time… let me rip… let me tear…"_

Harry's insides froze. "Theo, someone set it free again!"

"What? You mean the basilisk? But I thought you were done scaring the other students now that the headmaster's been removed?"

Harry closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up. "I've _never_ had control of it, like I've been telling you this entire time! _I've never set it on anyone_!"

The door leading to Snape's office swung open. Professor Snape stalked out.

"Professor, it's Avery who's opening the Chamber of Secrets. He knows Parseltongue!"

His guardian paused. "Avery, senior, is dead. Avery, junior, is currently living out a sentence on Azkaban, a prison which I might add from which no prisoner has ever escaped."

Harry frowned. There was more than one Avery? _Oh_, he thought dumbly. Riddle had shown him a memory that was over fifty years old, but then _who was opening the Chamber of Secrets_?

"How did you get that name?"

"I found a journal."

"A journal?" Professor Snape bared his uneven and yellow teeth. "What did it look like?"

"Er, it's small and thin and black." Much too exhausted to stand, Harry sat down heavily. "You could slip it into your pocket. It had Vauxhall Road, London, printed on the back of it."

Professor Snape impassively looked at Harry, stepping closer to crouch beside him. He tilted Harry's chin up and peered at his watery eyes. Then his guardian took Harry's pulse with two fingers on his wrist. "Have you eaten or drunk anything in the past four hours?"

"No, sir."

Snape straightened and quickly snapped his wrist to robes, pulling out his wand. "Nott, fetch Madam Pomfrey immediately."

"Yessir!" Theodore immediately darted through the portrait-hole.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Snape drew his wand, nonverbally casting a familiar diagnostic spell.

"How could I have? I slept in." In fact, sleeping sounded like a good idea. Closing his eyes, Harry leaned against the wall next to him…

"_Stischium_!"

Harry abruptly jerked awake with a gasp of pain. His entire left arm was on fire. Harry drew his wand and was about to use the counter-hex when Snape snatched his wand from his weak fingers. Harry made a noise as the relatively mild Stinging Hex continued. "What the bleeding hell?! It hurts!"

"As it's meant to."

He couldn't very well muster the strength to get his wand back either. He held his left arm tenderly. "What for?"

"I thought you might wish to avoid slipping into a coma that would lead to almost certain death."

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey had arrived and Professor Snape stepped aside after turning Harry's wand over to her.

"Relax, dear. Let's have a look shall we?" She did a series of diagnostic spells, some of which Harry recognized from last year. "Oh, dear. Harry, have you found something unusual of late? Something that you couldn't put down?"

He really wished they'd cancel the Stinging Hex already. "I found a leatherbound journal a few months ago. Someone threw it through Moaning Myrtle. She was quite upset about it. I thought about giving it to Professor Snape but it didn't seem so bad, until I got sucked into it last night."

Madam Pomfrey looked deeply troubled. "Where is it, Harry?"

"I don't know. When I woke up this morning, it was gone. Please, can't you do something about the pain? I just want to sleep for a bit."

"Once you're in the infirmary, dear." Madam Pomfrey immediately cast a Levitation spell on him to place him onto the stretcher she had conjured for just such a use.

Harry hardly noticed the number of Slytherins flooding into the common room. He wondered if the match was over early... The faint green light was beginning to hurt his eyes as well.

Soon enough, Harry was transported to the infirmary and levitated onto a bed. Madam Pomfrey forced him to drink various revolting potions. Finally, she cast the counter-hex, and Harry relaxed. He was still quite tired, but when he closed his eyes he found he couldn't sleep at all as if he'd drunk a great deal of coffee. Madam Pomfrey must have given him a Wideye Potion.

He looked around and saw a great many sets of framed curtains around what were normally empty beds, hiding the Petrified students. He frowned, there were too many framed curtains... Two more beds were hidden from view.

Harry saw that his wand was on the table next to him. He sat up groggily, picking it up.

"_All students are to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers report to the staff room. Immediately,"_ Professor McGonagall's voice announced throughout the infirmary.

Taking out his Invisibility cloak from his robes, Harry shook it out and wrapped it around him. He slowly pushed himself off the bed. Just in time too, since Madam Pomfrey came around the corner. She let out a shocked gasp to see the bed empty. "Harry? Harry, where are you?" She looked around and then bustled out of view. "Severus, I'm—I don't know where he's gone."

Professor Snape walked around the corner and looked around with an irritated look. "It appears that he has slipped out right beneath our noses."

"You don't think… that he knows about that poor girl who's been taken into the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Who knows the mind of a _misbehaving child_? He really ought to stay put, if he knows what's good for him." Snape looked around again scowling. "_Finite Incantatem_." He waved his hand in Harry's general direction with no effect, of course.

"He's long gone, Severus." Madam Pomfrey patted his arm and gave him a matronly headshake. "Besides, there's never been a Disillusionment Charm I couldn't see through."

The two adults turned and went back into the Healer's office obviously not heading to the staff room.

Harry snuck by the open door. He didn't care _who_ had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets. He was going to stop whoever was opening it once and for all!

Remembering Riddle's memory, he ran up the stairs to the third floor and entered Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, walking directly to the tap that didn't work. He looked closely at the spigot and saw the snake. "Open up."

Expecting something to happen, Harry frowned when nothing did. He took off his cloak and shoved it into his pocket. "I said, _open_!"

"Harry, why're you telling that broken tap to open?" Myrtle chortled in amusement.

Oh! He must be speaking English! He closed his eyes and imagined that the snakes engraved on the spigot were real. "_Open_," he told it, except this time he _definitely _heard a hiss escape his lips. That was truly a strange sensation.

The tap spun and glowed a brilliant white. Just as Riddle's memory had shown him, the sink sank down into the floor and a large hole appeared behind it.

"Brilliant," Harry said to himself.

He peered down the hole and felt a strange sense of vertigo.

"I should go get the teachers," he told himself. "That's how Wizard chess goes, right? I shouldn't force a stalemate or I lose." He frowned at the hole. He disliked the thought of gallantly taking a leap of faith into the dark hole especially with the threat of a basilisk down there. He wasn't even sure what a basilisk looked like, besides _big_.

Myrtle giggled as she floated by him. "Harry, are you thinking about _death_? If you end up dying and become a ghost… you're always welcome to share my toilet."

"Er… no thanks, Myrtle." Then it hit him; he could notify the teachers _and_ stop whoever kept opening the Chamber of Secrets. He was the only Parselmouth in school other than whoever was releasing the basilisk. Harry had to be the one to do it! "Myrtle, go get the professors! Tell them the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is right here in your bathroom!"

She squealed with excitement. "Have a good death, Harry!" And then dove straight through the wall.

"That's… No." Harry pressed his hand against his face thinking he might be feeling too out of sorts to do this. "I can do this." He peered down into the darkness. "I can do this," he said to himself again and then stepped off into darkness. Not far down, he landed against a steeply-angled, slippery slope. From there, he just kept endlessly sliding and sliding, down, down, down.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw small pipes branching off, but none as large as the one he was in now, twisting and turning as it brought him deeper than even the school dungeons. These must be the pipes that had brought Slytherin's creature through the walls of Hogwarts.

The pipe leveled itself and Harry shot out, skating across the slimy wet floor. It reminded Harry a bit of the Underground, except dark, unpaved and littered with broken, sharp rocks.

"I must be miles beneath the school," Harry said to himself. His voice echoed through the blackness. He lifted his wand. "_Lumos!"_ The bright light from his wand-tip momentarily blinded him. Thinking twice, he slipped the cloak around him and pointed the light out in front of him. He imagined that it'd look very strange if anyone saw part of his wand floating in midair.

Once his eyes adjusted, Harry realized he was in a sort of cavern.

"At any sign of movement, close your eyes straight away. Avoid the stare of death. You don't really want to end up in Myrtle's toilet, do you?" He whispered in the vast emptiness, trying to quell the burgeoning panic in his gut. He shouldn't be down here by himself. Harry knew he shouldn't be, but who else would be willing to face a basilisk?

Beneath his feet were numerous animal bones, crunching loudly with each step he took. Then something was lying on the ground in front of him. "_Nox!_" Harry whispered, crouching down. He didn't hear anything move in front of him though… He turned slightly when he heard something CRUNCH behind him.

Harry waited but heard nothing else for several long moments. He thought it must have been a rat.

"_Lumos_," he whispered and moved forward while his heart beat so fast it hurt. "Snakeskin, no…" Harry thought of what the Potions Professor had instructed on potions ingredients. "Basilisk shed-skin?" The dried out scales on the skin were a poisonous green, and it was gigantic, curled and empty across the floor. It had to be at least fifty feet long! "How the bleeding hell am I going to kill _that_?!" He cried out. Dust suddenly dropped from above Harry. He raised his wand. A deep rumbling noise emitted from above the misty dust clinging to the ceiling.

Trusting his instinct, Harry ran forward out of the way.

The ceiling buckled behind him in a loud reverberating clatter of boulders. A cloud of dust overtook him, and he coughed hard to clear his lungs. "Brilliant. I don't know any handy spells to move that."

Harry stared at the wall of rocks blocking his exit. He silently turned and moved forward, just he and his queen wrapped around him. Harry really hoped that his luck would hold out, since every nerve in his body tingled unpleasantly and his instinct was telling him to run as far and as fast as he could in the _opposite_ direction. Still he went forward.

At last, Harry crept around another bend. From the light of his wand, there was a solid wall ahead of him with two great entwined serpents carved into the rock. Their eyes were great glinting emeralds.

Harry's throat was very dry as he approached them. He didn't have to pretend they were alive. He swore he could feel their eyes on him. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat.

"_Open_," Harry said in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted and slithered away from the locks as the wall cracked open right down the middle. The two halves slid smoothly out of sight and Harry, shaking clear to the ends of his toes, walked inside.

He was at the very end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. There were towering stone pillars carved with serpents that rose to support the ceiling. Pools of black water were on either side of the long walkway leading to an immense, menacing carving of a severe-looking man with a beard. An odd greenish gloom filled the place, murkier than the light in the Slytherin common room.

Harry listened to the chilly silence. Where was the basilisk? Where was the girl who'd been abducted? He raised his wand, feeling exposed, as he slowly made his way down the tiled walkway. Every deliberately quiet footstep was amplified by the walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, not wanting to die without a fight on his part. The serpents' eyes on the columns followed him unnervingly.

As he passed the last set of statues, the great bust of the wizard at the far end of the room hovered over another pool of water. Harry swung his wand around, trying to make out his surroundings. On the wet floor was what looked like a pile of Hogwarts' robes and long brilliant red hair.

"Ginny Weasley?" He murmured curiously and dropped by her side, wand firmly in his grip. He turned her over. Her skin was completely grey and her temperature was as chilly as the air around them. He held a hand over her mouth and nose as he'd seen Head Girl Pitts do with Parkinson. "You're alive…" Harry said with relief. He holstered his wand; the wand tip still provided light through the gap at the bottom. "Let's get you out of here."

"But you only just arrived, Harry."

Harry spun around. A tall boy with jet-black hair like Harry's smiled at him.

"Tom—_Tom Riddle_?" Harry asked, thinking he was mistaken. The other boy was strangely blurred around the edges, but only a little bit.

Tom nodded his head, his smile unwavering. His black eyes didn't leave Harry's face, not even once.

"I thought…" Harry looked around and saw the journal lying on the ground. "I thought you were in the journal?"

"Oh, I was. Your help was most appreciated."

Harry didn't understand what Tom meant, but he was singularly focused on Ginny's safety. "Look, there's that basilisk, the one I warned you about, in here. I would like to leave with Ginny before it kills us."

"It won't come until it's called," Tom said calmly.

"What?" Harry looked down at Ginny's pasty face. "Oh, I see. I guess not if the attacker isn't here."

Tom's smile broadened even more. "I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," he said. "For the chance to see you. To speak with you."

That was really strange, Harry thought while his instinct screamed about the danger he was in. That made it very difficult to form sentences. "Er. We're in the _Chamber of Secrets_. We can talk later, after Ginny's gotten help."

"We're going to talk _now_," Tom said darkly.

Harry stared at Tom. Harry had a very peculiar notion, but no… but… could it be?

"Go on, Harry. I want to hear you say it." Tom raised a hand to his ear and cocked his head smugly.

"…It was _you _who opened the Chamber of Secrets last time, wasn't it? _You _did."

Tom clapped his hands slowly. "Bravo, Harry. A little slow on the uptick, but not even Professor Dippet figured it out."

"But, that doesn't make any sense… I thought it was Voldemort who opened it."

"He is my present and future… and I suppose my past. You see my birth name, Tom Marvolo Riddle, is an anagram... for _I am Lord Voldemort_. This is my true name, not that filthy _Mudblood_ name bequeathed to me by parents who never wanted me," Tom said, spitting the word _Mudblood_ into an obscenity far worse than Draco ever managed.

"You-you _tricked_ me," Harry said reeling with shock.

"Oh," Tom tsked with a face of heart-wrenching concern. "And here I thought you'd be worried about the girl?" He smiled smugly.

"I am!" Harry yelled, "You've done this to her! Made it so she won't wake up!"

"_Of course_," Tom said matter-of-factly, "Little Ginny's been writing to me for months and months, telling me all her _pitiful_ worries and woes—how her brothers _tease_ her, how she had to come to school in secondhand robes and books…" Tom's eyes took on a nastier glint. "How she didn't think the famous Harry Potter would ever like _her_… a mere first-year _Gryffindor_."

Harry was taken aback.

"It was _very_ boring listening to the silly troubles of an eleven-year-old. But I was patient, sympathetic, kind. Ginny simply _loved_ me. Poor Ginny Weasley opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to me." The pitch of his voice changed to a young girl's. "_It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket... No one's ever understood me like you, Tom_." He laughed a high, reedy laugh that made the hair on Harry's neck stand up. "Her soul sustained me, fed me on a diet rich with her deepest, darkest fears and secrets. I grew powerful, so powerful that I began feeding her a few of _my_ secrets, a little of _my_ soul back into her…"

"You possessed her." Harry's mouth had gone dry. "You made her open the Chamber of Secrets, made her write the threatening message on the wall. It was _you _who had her set the basilisk on the other students and Mrs. Norris."

"Yes…" Tom said with relish. "Of course she didn't know it at first, but her diary entries became far more interesting." His voice went high again as he recited, "_Dear Tom, I think I'm losing my mind. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there."_

Tom's eyes were watching Harry's horrified face with glee. _"Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front._"

"Stop it," Harry said, his fingers clenched around Ginny's cold arms.

_"Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me… There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad… I think **I'm** the one attacking everyone, Tom!_" He barked out a laugh. "Do you know it took stupid, little Ginny a very long time to stop trusting her diary? But she finally did and tried to dispose of me. And that's where _you_ came in, Harry. You found me, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was _you_. The very person I was so anxious to meet."

Yanking his wand from its holster, Harry pointed the wand at Tom, but Harry wanted to know _why_. His brain was searing in his fury and fear as he tried to make sense of the suspicion and accusations he'd had to endure during his second year at Hogwarts.

"In comparison," Tom continued as if he didn't see the wand in Harry's hand, "You were guarded to begin with, suspicious of my true nature. You barely shared anything. Merely consoled me as if you were _my_ support rather than the other way around. I rather liked that about you. There was so much of _my_ soul already in you, so much _darkness_ waiting to ripen. It was too easy to use your body this morning to lure Ginny Weasley down here as you slept blissfully."

Sickened and numb, Harry's knees gave out. On the wet floor, he clutched Ginny's too-cold arm with his left hand. This was _his_ fault. Why hadn't he given the diary to Snape straight away? It might have prevented all of this. "_No_."

"_Yes_," Tom hissed, "_I preserved myself so I might lead another in my footsteps to finish the Great One's noble work_."

It was Parseltongue. Harry could hear it now _and_ understand it. He responded in like, "_You haven't finished it! No one's died, and the Mandrake Restorative Draught will be ready in a few days and everyone will be all right—"_

"Haven't I already told you," Tom said quietly in perfectly spoken English. "That killing _Mudbloods_ doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been—you."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. He'd walked right into Tom's trap. _Right into it!_

"Oh, yes. At first, after Ginny told me _so_ much about you, I was curious. How was it that _you_ managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did _you_ escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed? After meeting you, I believe I _understand_ what happened that night."

"Understand _what_?"

"_You and I share pieces of the same soul, Boy. That night you destroyed my future self you had done so by using your mother's sacrifice to grab a shard of his soul. In the process, you tore Lord Voldemort apart,_" Tom hissed, "_Extremely dark magic for an infant's first bout of wild magic_."

"NO!" Harry screamed with horror, finally releasing Ginny to stand. He pointed his wand at the apparition. "NO! I'm _NOT_ like you!"

Tom clucked his tongue. "Poor Harry. Afraid of your dark side? Afraid you might become a great wizard like me?"

"Dumbledore's the greatest wizard in the world, _not_ you. Never you!"

"You must be feeling _brave_ standing there when I have no wand of my own…"

"You don't need a wand to be dangerous," Harry said. "And you're wrong about me. I know why you couldn't kill me. You lost your powers because _my_ _mother_ died to save me, my _Muggle-born_ mother." Harry shook with suppressed rage. "I didn't do anything at all. _She_ stopped you from killing me. And I've seen the real you. Oh yes, I saw you. You're a wreck, barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in _hiding_, barely eking out an existence!"

Tom's face contorted in disgust. "Ah, so that's what it was. It explains why a skinny boy with no innate magical talent managed to defeat me. There is nothing special about you, is there? Just a powerful counter-charm cast in the last throes of life. How extraordinarily _lucky_ of you."

Harry nodded curtly.

Tom's eyes lingered on the scar on Harry's forehead and then his lips stretched back into a relaxed smile. "I really _do_ like you. So humble despite your thirst for power. Why don't you stop playing hero and join forces with me? We could be great together, you and I. Together we could change the world…"

Harry's blood froze in his veins as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. "_I'm not like you!_" He raged, the spitting hiss threatening of itself.

"You aren't? How silly of me to forget to mention that I intimately know your soul. Or did you think entering the journal held no consequence for you?"

Harry's breathing came in sharp gasps. He forced himself to use English. "I'm not like you! **I'm not**_!_"

Tom clucked. "I appreciate how you think, how you justify your actions, what _scares_ you… And Harry, we're not so different you and I," Tom said serenely.

"_I'm nothing like you_!" Harry vehemently denied in Parseltongue, sweaty hands tightly gripped on his wand.

"Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by abusive Muggles… Sorted into Slytherin. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since Merlin…" Tom continued with that soothing tone. "Face it, Harry. We could be brothers."

Harry's wand was shaking. "_No_!" He hissed. He gulped down air. "No, you're **wrong**!"

"But I'm a generous soul, Harry. I'll show you what it means to be an Heir of Slytherin and then you can no longer deny my words."

Tom turned to look at the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. He opened his mouth wide and hissed in undulations, but Harry understood every last utterance.

_"Speak to me, Great One, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_."

The statue's mouth was opening, wider and wider. Something stirred from inside it and slithered up and out.

The instant that the watch on Harry's arm had gone ice-cold, Harry shut his eyes tight.

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. He could sense it through his feet on the floor even without seeing.

It stopped just short of him and pressed its snout against his side.

"_I hunger… I ssmell blood…" _It hissed lightly.

Fear shot up through Harry's legs. "_I'm not food!" _Harry thought for a moment that he would die. Then, the snout pulled back, and the beast slithered away from Harry.

"Why don't you open your eyes? Show a little trust."

"I'll pass," Harry snarled out.

"_You bring treat?"_ The basilisk asked.

"_No, Boy did," _Tom answered.

_"She's not food!" _Harry blurted out.

"The girl is practically dead, Harry. Give it up. You're trapped and powerless here."

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Harry cried, blindly pointing towards where Tom was.

"Did I mention that I'm not _really_ here? Not yet, at any rate. I am immune to your magic... and the girl is dying... Soon I will be at full strength and my reign of power will begin again."

He could hear Tom breathing next to him, and Harry blinked his eyes open.

Tom looked like he wanted to touch Harry's scar, as his fingers hovered over his forehead. Perhaps Ginny had learned from Hermione what had happened with Voldemort last year… perhaps Ginny had told Tom about it and he was afraid to touch him. Harry stared at the apparition.

With a wry smile, Tom leaned closer, and Harry took several steps back. "How is it you manage to have eyes such as yours despite everything you've experienced? You should be brimming with hate and spite by now. Yet here you are mocking me with your pitying eyes. Tell me, given half the chance wouldn't you want to avenge your mother's murderer?"

"You didn't kill her. As you said, you've been in that journal for fifty years. You're only a forgotten memory!" Harry cried out, wishing his magic could hurt the apparition in front of him.

"Yet, it was Lord Voldemort who killed her while she begged to have your life spared. I saw your suppressed memories, Harry. Why I gave her the option to stand aside, instead of ridding the world of her tainted blood outright, is a mystery to me. She muddied your bloodline, strengthening the weakness within the Potter bloodline, and yet I _hesitated_. Lord Voldemort never hesitates to kill a _Mudblood_."

Viciously lunging forward and expecting stabbing pain in his scar, Harry grabbed Tom's neck with both hands. Unlike the dark hope festering in his chest had wished, his touch didn't burn Tom, didn't blister his skin. Tom toppled backward onto the ground, Harry above him.

He felt Tom laugh beneath him in amusement. "So, it appears that your mother's protection has no effect on me." Harry's fingers tightened around his throat, but Tom was still able to breathe, still able to talk. "How _curious_…"

"SHUT UP!" Harry yelled at the pleasantly smiling Tom.

"Do you want me to die, Harry?"

The basilisk screamed somewhere beyond them and Harry shut his eyes tightly just as he saw the massive body rear up. He heard the faintly musical trills of a phoenix and the fleshy ripping noises of something ghastly occurring across from him.

"_Vipera exsanguina!"_ A familiar voice rang out.

The basilisk shrieked out a roar, and then fell over in a loud thud and a great splash of water.

Harry's heart was in his throat when his watch became warm once again.

"Clever, Harry. Very clever. You distracted me so thoroughly that a pawn of yours snuck in and killed my only mature basilisk." Tom whistled high and clear. "But I have more, Harry… Plenty more…"

Harry heard a great number of things grinding from beneath the bust of the statue.

_"Silence, Great One, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_," Harry ordered in a rush. He heard the statue's mouth begin to grind shut as the sound of many slithering snake bodies welled closer and closer to the narrowing opening. The watch was growing so unbearably cold that Harry nearly tore it off.

"_Speak to me—"_ Tom stopped suddenly.

Surprised by the noise of pain from Tom, Harry opened his eyes to see that a bright hole of light had formed in the middle of Tom Riddle. Harry jumped off of him.

"_No!_" Voldemort's memory snarled, turning onto his belly towards something that was spurting fluid onto the tile floor next to them. Then, Tom abruptly let out a long, dreadful scream. He writhed about, his limbs flailing as cracks of light spread from the central hole. With one last cry Tom's body arched off the floor, and his body exploded in sparks of light. There was a howl and a strong breeze... and then silence.

Harry grabbed his wand and turned its still-active Lumos spell upon the object. It was the journal and black, reddish ink was flooding the floor to Harry's great satisfaction. There was a wickedly curved fang plunged in the center of the black leather cover. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Breathing raggedly, Harry fell to his knees next to Ginny. Remembering the spell which had finished the basilisk, Harry recognized the voice of the spellcaster. "Forget rook, you're a bleeding queen!" He shouted into the darkness.

The darkness didn't respond. Beside him, Ginny moaned and then her eyes cracked open. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry who was relatively unscathed, and then to the diary on the floor. Ginny drew in a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

She rolled over onto her stomach. She was crying so hard that Harry could barely understand her through all her blubbering. "I-it was m-me—but I s-swear I didn't mean to—R-riddle made me, took me over—_How_ did you kill that—W-where's Riddle? He… he came out of the diary—"

"It's all right. He's finished. Him and the basilisk." Harry patted her shoulder trying to comfort her. "Why don't we go see Madam Pomfrey?"

"I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wailed and wept. "I've w-wanted to come ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to… have to…. _W-what'll Mom and Dad say_?!"

Harry helped her up and led her down the walkway. "I think they'll be glad you're okay."

She clung to him tightly and went along with him willingly.

They were both lucky to be alive.


	15. A Free Elf's Request

_**Author's Notes: **This is the last chapter, folks. I truly hope you've enjoyed your adventure with me. _

_Having liked what you've seen so far, I hope you'll decide to read how Slytherin!Harry handles his next year of Hogwarts. I will forewarn you that I may not be posting the next arc for several months. If I happen to post something, the updates will be slow. __I may be writing, but even I don't know where my muse will take me next. As usual, I appreciate all reviews, PMs, favorites, and follows that have been bestowed to me. _

* * *

Once Ginny and Harry passed into the cavern, Harry told the snakes on the stone doors to close behind him. They did so with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes' progress up the tunnel, Harry came to the rock fall and noticed a nicely Transfigured pathway running straight through it. He ducked down and went through first. Deciding it was safe, he helped Ginny step through.

When they made it through, Harry noticed they were standing at the bottom of the pipe he'd used to enter this place. He wondered how they were going to go back up it when a red-and-gold plumed bird trilled musically at him. Both Ginny and Harry turned to look at the crying Fawkes. The headmaster was right; his phoenix really did have quite a beautiful plumage when he was neither too old nor too young.

However, the phoenix was perched on something quite invisible. Its tears were soaking into something Harry couldn't see.

Harry ventured a guess as to who the bird resting on. "Professor Snape?"

"_Professor Snape's here_?" Ginny squeaked, looking appalled.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"What do you think?" A disembodied voice said sharply, "I just singlehandedly killed a legendary, highly venomous creature notoriously immune to magic unless mortally wounded. One does not simply walk away without injury."

In the faint light from the still-active Lighting Spell on Harry's wand, there was a long, thin-bladed sword propped on the ground slick with blood and with a handle encrusted with emeralds and wrought into the shape of a snake.

Curious, Harry waved his wand towards the empty air. "_Finite Incantatem._"

Color and shape and form manifested like a kaleidoscope before rearranging into a familiar form. Professor Snape's face was waxy and sickly pale. His robes were torn, but since they were black Harry couldn't see any blood on them. However, a ratty black hat was clutched in his right hand.

"Why've you got the Sorting Hat?" Ginny asked with some confusion.

"_For a magic trick_," Harry's guardian hissed out. Professor Snape stood up slowly, brushing his mostly soggy robes free of rock dust and crumbly bone.

Beside Harry, Ginny went stiff with fear.

Professor Snape looked down his nose at Ginny and Harry with his most intimidating look. "Let this be a lesson to the both of you. _Don't trust objects that write or talk back_."

"Y-y-yes, s-sir," Ginny said tremulously.

Having dealt with Snape's wrath on plenty of occasions, Harry didn't feel the slightest bit afraid. "Why did no one else follow us?"

"Because only fools willingly walk into a place known to inhabit basilisks," Professor Snape snapped as he leaned over and grabbed the sword by its handle with his left hand. He thrust the Hat at Ginny. "Hold this."

"O-okay…" She gingerly took it and looked at the hat. "Hello."

"Ginny Weasley, hello," it turned slightly in her hands, "and is _that_ Harry Potter?"

"Sod off, you crusty turd," Harry said crossly.

"_Definitely_ Slytherin."

"Shut up!"

"What?" Ginny asked confused.

"It's not important," Harry told her with a firm tone.

"Harry Potter greatly desired to not be placed among Slytherins when I Sorted him last year," the Sorting Hat said to her solemnly.

"Blabbermouth, it's none of _her_ business," Harry directed at the cursed thing.

"However," the hat continued as if he hadn't heard, "had the Founders still been alive, I'd bet a bag of Kneazles that the question of Harry Potter's placement would have incited a duel between Salazar and Godric."

"I think I would have taken my chances with them instead of you."

"And the same outcome would have resulted, since Salazar Slytherin nearly always won a duel. Not many students have the right qualities for his house _and,_ most importantly… You're a Parselmouth."

"Oh, _come off it!_ Now you're just prejudiced!"

Ginny looked at Harry as she clutched the brim of the hat. "I… I think it's great you're in Slytherin."

Harry stopped and looked at her like she'd lost her marbles. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You're living proof that Slytherins aren't all bad," she replied. "Sometimes they just _appear_ to be." She looked over towards Snape's dark form with the brilliant phoenix still perched on his black-robed shoulder. "I don't think this year would have gone much differently had you been placed in Gryffindor. At least in Slytherin you have friends who won't desert you."

Harry looked at her. He didn't agree with her assessment of Slytherins because quite frankly he had yet to meet a Slytherin like him. He sighed heavily and looked towards the pipe. "Professor Snape, how are we leaving?"

The sword was wrapped in black binding and had been slung over the adult's left shoulder; the professor's black eyes flicked towards the bird still perched calmly on his shoulder.

Harry very nearly slapped himself. "_Oh_. Right." Holstering his wand, he thrust his hand to Ginny.

"What? But that bird can't carry _all of us_…"

"Phoenixes are special. Fawkes will be able to take all of us," Harry answered. "You do trust me, don't you?"

She hesitantly took his hand and then gripped it firmly. It was still cold. "I do."

"How _touching._" Snape offered a hand to Harry, who took it easily with his free hand. Ginny refused to look at Harry as her entire face had turned scarlet.

When Professor Snape took the Phoenix's tail feathers, a strange lightness spread all over Harry's whole body. In the next second, in a rush of wings and feathers, the three of them were flying upward through the curvy pipe.

Ginny giggled in relief, most likely, and Harry couldn't help smiling as the chill air whipped through his hair. Before he stopped enjoying the ride, it was over—the three of them landed on their feet on the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

The sink slid slowly back into place behind them.

Professor Flitwick was staring at them wide-eyed.

"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. "Did your anti-venin work?"

"Fresh Phoenix Tears," he said grimly, taking her wand arm when she had begun to check his vitals to direct it towards Harry and Ginny. "Tend after the children, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey immediately went to Ginny first, checking her over.

"My goodness!" Professor Flitwick said. "You two gave us a scare."

Harry gave him a grin, feeling rather well now that he was out of the darkness.

"You're alive?" Myrtle moaned pitifully.

"There's no need to sound disappointed," Harry told her as he wiped his glasses free of slime.

"Well, my offer still stands, Harry. Any time you want to die…" The ghost giggled, a finger pressed to her lips as she twisted her body with excitement.

Harry gave her a look. "I like being not-dead, so please stop offering a place in your toilet."

"Oh, that's disgusting," Ginny said to Myrtle. "You can't have thought Harry would actually move in with you?"

The ghost blushed silver and scowled. "Don't be jealous that I've spoken to him more than you have!" The room was becoming very frosty.

"Oh dear," Professor Flitwick said as ice began to form on the walls.

"_Orkezein Excathedra!"_ Snape's voice was a booming echo in the chamber and a bright light shot out from his wand.

Moaning Myrtle let out a shriek and was thrown backwards through the north wall of the bathroom. The room immediately warmed up, water splashing down the sides of the walls as the ice melted.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. His guardian said nothing as he watched Madam Pomfrey continue to fuss over Ginny.

"Drink this and this," Madam Pomfrey was ordering to Ginny, who did so without hesitation. "Now, Professor Flitwick will take you to visit your parents in Professor McGonagall's office. They've been worried sick about you."

Ginny looked to Harry. He gave her an encouraging smile and nodded towards the door. "I'm sure your brothers missed you too."

Eyes filled with tears, she lunged towards him. He backpedaled a little, but relaxed when she only wrapped arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you, Harry."

He stood there uncomfortably, and then she pulled away.

"Young Harry is right. Your family will be very happy to see you return to them unharmed," Professor Flitwick said reassuringly, "This way, this way."

Ginny gave Harry one long look before silently following Professor Flitwick out of the bathroom.

"Let's see if you've damaged yourself any worse." Madam Pomfrey stood in front of him and magically checked him over as she'd done with Ginny. "You're not any worse for wear, thank goodness. Thanks to the prior care I gave you, your magical core is on its way to smooth recovery. I must insist that you have a full meal and a good night's rest."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said obediently.

Then the Healer gave him a very firm frown. "Next time you require medical aid, you'll find it much more difficult to leave the infirmary, Harry."

Harry gaped at her. "But if I hadn't, Ginny would have died!"

"This is for your own safety." Her tone was very stern.

"You can't just lock me up."

"Good heavens, child. My Healing Art will not harm you, only heal if you allow it. You _must_ think of your health. I am most concerned about you because at the rate you're going you'll burn out your magical core before you become of Age. Unless you want to be a Squib?"

"No," Harry said glumly.

"Your guardian," Madam Pomfrey nodded towards Professor Snape, "has already given me permission to enact measures to prevent any future escape attempts while you are under my care."

Harry's teeth clicked when he closed his mouth. He glowered at his guardian, who did not seem to care.

"Do you remember the explicit warning I gave you if you broke any more school rules?" Professor Snape looked at him coldly.

"But I saved the day!"

"No, _I did_," his guardian countered through clenched teeth. "If _I_ hadn't followed you, a sixteen-year-old Dark Lord could have murdered you, tortured and then possessed you, or trapped your soul inside the journal while he wore your body like a set of robes."

"…That… that _happens_?"

"Does the _Tale of Urman _ring any bells in that empty head of yours?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly. That was a Dark tale about a book collector who switched places with his favorite book.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Harry wondered if there was a bit of truth in all the Magical Fairy Tales…

"_Well_, it's about time to administer a second dose of Mandrake Restorative Draught to those who've been Petrified," Madam Pomfrey said. "Take care of yourselves." She narrowed her eyes at Professor Snape in particular.

He looked impassively back.

Then she turned and left from the bathroom.

Harry took a deep breath of relief, happy that he didn't have to stay in the infirmary after his latest misadventure.

"Did you _ask_ the Sorting Hat to place you in Gryffindor?" His Head of House asked suddenly. Harry was not used to the lack of noise in the haunted girl's bathroom; he could hear something dripping somewhere.

"Er… well, no. Nobody told me I could do that."

Snape gestured to the door. "Professor Dumbledore will likely see the rescue of Ginevra Weasley as cause to celebrate." He cast a Cleaning Charm and then a Refreshening Charm over the both of them, and then a Drying Charm on himself. Harry didn't know where the Potions Master had the magical stamina after killing a basilisk.

They walked down the empty corridor in silence until Harry asked, "Where'd you get the sword?" The snakes cast into the guard had been unsettling him with their winking emerald eyes. Harry could not seem to stop looking at the handle.

"It's an epee that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

"Where'd you get it?"

The Slytherin Head of House did not look as if he might answer, but then said, "I pulled it out of the Sorting Hat."

"So the magic trick…_" _Harry tried very hard not to giggle and ended up laughing.

Severus Snape looked very irked by Harry's reaction.

Having walked some distance through Hogwarts, they stopped in front of a familiar gargoyle.

"_Sour smarties_," Snape snapped out.

The statue jumped back, and they entered the room with the rotating stairway. At the top, Professor Snape went straight, walking through the door that was already open to the headmaster's office.

Lucius Malfoy and Professor Dumbledore turned and looked at them. "Good evening, Severus, Harry," the headmaster said pleasantly from his seat behind his desk.

Harry saw Dobby the house-elf cowering behind Draco's father, a stained rag in his hand. Red-hot fury burned straight through him. He glared up at Snape. He'd _lied_ to him! As Draco's godfather, Snape would have known that Dobby belonged to the Malfoy family!

"As I was saying before I was interrupted," Mr. Malfoy sent a scathing look at the both of them and then turned back to the headmaster. "I'm surprised you'd dare to return when the governors suspended you."

"I will explain it once again, Lucius," the headmaster smiled serenely, "The other eleven governors contacted me today about how Arthur Weasley's daughter had been kidnapped. They, of course, re-instated me at once. They seemed to think that I was the best man for the job." Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Curiously… Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Anger momentarily halted, Harry's eyebrows lifted straight up. That hardly seemed like something a Malfoy would do, considering Draco's father could be put to trial for that if Dumbledore chose to press charges.

Mr. Malfoy's pale face grew even paler, but his eyes narrowed to slits of fury. "How _dare_ you!"

"I beg your pardon?"

He paced closer towards Professor Dumbledore. "My sole concern has always been and will always be the welfare of this school. And of course, it's students," he looked towards Harry.

Harry could not feel an ounce of sincerity from the man, and neither could Snape if the way he crossed his arms over his chest was any indication.

"_You _have identified the culprit then, I presume?" Mr. Malfoy sneered.

"We have," Dumbledore said with a smile.

"It _was _Harry Potter after all?" Draco's father seemed to relish the idea. "The Boy Who Lived was not the hero everyone was expecting…?"

"No, Lucius, though I find it illuminating that you would think that Harry would choose to do such terrible things, such as set a basilisk upon others."

Unblinking, Mr. Malfoy did not seem to like that news.

"Severus…? Would you care to present the evidence of Lord Voldemort's hand in this?"

Professor Snape stepped forward, holding up Riddle's diary which had a very large hole through the center. Harry wondered where the fang had gone. "The Dark Lord was acting through Ginevra Weasley, by means of _this_ diary."

"I see," said Mr. Malfoy, who appeared to be surprised.

While the other two professors were gazing at Draco's father intensely, Harry was looking at Dobby. His large eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry. He kept pointing at the diary, and then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hit himself hard on the head each time he pointed at the other two.

"It was a clever plan by whoever passed the diary to her," the headmaster said in a level voice. "Because if Harry hadn't discovered this book, why—Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will."

Lucius Malfoy's hand tightened on his cane, while his face went completely blank. Harry tried to keep the frown off his face as Dobby continued to pantomime at him.

"What might have happened then…?" Professor Dumbledore continued, "The Weasleys are one of the most prominent pureblood families. Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act would have certainly failed if his daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns… Very fortunate that the diary was discovered…"

Mr. Malfoy said stiffly, "Very fortunate."

And still, Dobby continued, until Harry figured out what he'd been trying to tell him. He nodded very slightly at Dobby who began to twist his ears in punishment. "Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, professors?"

Snape shifted beside him, and Harry could feel his black stare boring into the side of his skull.

Lucius Malfoy shot Harry a sharp look, which reminded Harry that Draco's father had been a suspected supporter of Voldemort. Instead of getting frightened, it bolstered his confidence. "Mr. Malfoy gave it to her at Flourish and Blotts."

Draco's father snorted derisively, while his hand on his cane clenched and unclenched. "As if _I_ had any hand in this. Simply preposterous."

"Yes, you did," Harry said firmly, letting the confidence shine through his aura. "You picked up Ginny's old Transfigurations book from her cauldron and slipped the diary behind it while you were insulting the Weasleys that Wednesday afternoon."

"Prove it," Mr. Malfoy hissed.

"I hardly think it wise to challenge the boy's memory. If his accusations proved true, you would find the Ministry much less accommodating to you," Professor Snape said.

"Now Severus, no need to state the obvious. I'm sure that Lucius never meant to hand out any of Lord Voldemort's old school things…" The headmaster's eyes twinkled. "But if any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think the consequences for the one responsible would be severe…"

Lucius Malfoy's right hand twitched as if he longed to hex the both of them. "Well, let us hope that Harry Potter will always be around to save the day."

Harry met his gaze steadily. "I will be."

Mr. Malfoy's lip twitched, and then Harry was thwacked by the back of his head. "Oi!" He looked up at his guardian with a confused expression.

"You will _not_," Snape growled.

"But—!"

"I would listen to your legal guardian, Potter. He is, after all, looking after your _best_ interests… Dumbledore, Severus…" After nodding towards each of them, Mr. Malfoy haughtily turned to his house-elf. "Come, Dobby! We're leaving."

When Dobby didn't move fast enough, the house-elf was kicked down the stairs, and when he didn't get back on his feet quick enough he was kicked again, and each time he let out a shriek of pain. Mr. Malfoy strolled through Dumbledore's open office door. Harry stared after them. How could anyone ignore that?

"Is that the last of our problems with the Chamber of Secrets, Severus?"

"There's an entire nest of basilisks down there. I say brick up the Girls' Second Floor bathroom and be done with it."

Seeing that the adults were not going to do anything about it, a thought flashed through Harry's mind. "Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly, "I wonder if I could have that?"

"Certainly, Harry," the headmaster said calmly and then handed the ruined journal over.

Before Harry could rush out, Snape's hand grabbed him by the shoulder. "Don't be stupid."

"I won't! I'll be careful, honest." Harry met Snape's dark eyes. The grip on his shoulder loosened and Harry pulled away, dashing out the office. He could still hear Dobby's squeals. While the staircase carried him downward, Harry toed off his loose shoe, pulled off his worn out sock with a hole in the end, and stuffed the sock between the pages of the ruined diary.

After sliding his foot back into his soggy shoe, Harry chased the pained cries down the dark corridor.

He caught them at the top of the stairs right outside Hogwarts' front door.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry gasped, skidding to a halt. "I have something of yours—" He forced the diary into Lucius Malfoy's hand.

Draco's father looked at the battered and ruined diary and snorted. "Mine? How absurd." He shoved the diary towards Dobby. "Now if you've come to lambast me with those false accusations of Dumbledore's, I shall warn that you are playing with fire, _boy_. Be careful that you don't get burned." Lucius Malfoy began to take more steps downstairs.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said mockingly. "But I think most people couldn't help feeling angry at someone who had a hand in endangering their life."

"Endangering you?" Piercing grey eyes, utterly devoid of empathy, were menacing as they met Harry's. "My dear _boy, _why in the world would I threaten the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Because you're a Death Eater who wiggled out of trouble, aren't you?" Harry accused.

Pale, thin lips smiled cruelly. "Oh, you poor, delusional creature. It's little wonder that Severus covets you so when you're so pitifully naïve." He turned to go, not in the least intimidated. "Come, Dobby."

Dobby stared at Draco's father defiantly.

"I said, _come_."

Yet, Dobby didn't move. In his left hand, he clutched Harry's tired old sock, like it was worth something priceless. "Master has given Dobby a sock," the house-elf said with wonder.

Mr. Malfoy spun around. "What? I didn't give—" He stopped when he saw the open diary in Dobby's right hand and the sock in the other. He stood frozen, staring.

"Master has presented Dobby with clothes…. Dobby… Dobby is _free_."

The adult's steely grey eyes were now heated with suspicion.

With a grin, Harry lifted his robes and trouser leg to show off the ankle with no sock on it.

"You've lost me my _servant_!" Lucius Malfoy screamed with explosive fury, yanking his wand from his cane handle. He whipped it towards Harry, while Harry fumbled for his wand.

Dobby stood in front of Harry and raised his hand, shouting, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!"

As Mr. Malfoy had been mid-spell, there was a loud bang, and he was thrown backward down the stairs. He landed on the muddy ground at the bottom but recovered quickly, his face livid.

Harry tried not to laugh and looked down at Dobby to regain his composure.

Dobby raised a long, threatening finger. "You shall go now," he said fiercely. "You shall not touch Harry Potter."

By the way he was acting, Lucius Malfoy had no choice. Harry had never seen anybody so furious with him before. "Mark my words, _Potter_. One day soon… you are going to meet the same sticky end as your parents. They were meddlesome _fools_, too." With one last incensed stare at the pair of them, Mr. Malfoy swung his cloak about him and marched down the grassy slope in front of Hogwarts. His long platinum blond hair had fallen out of its green ribbon.

That must mean that Harry would never be invited back to the Malfoy Manor. Draco would be terribly disappointed.

Once his former master was out of sight, Dobby turned his giant, googly eyes on Harry and his mouth split into a wide, toothy smile. "Harry Potter freed Dobby. Harry Potter set Dobby _free_!" He repeated as if he couldn't believe it. "How can Dobby ever repay Harry Potter?"

Hesitant to refuse the thankful house-elf out of hand, Harry looked at Dobby. Wasn't this how Snape had gotten Nanua? But Harry wouldn't ask that of the house-elf nor did he want to put the idea into Dobby's head. "Er, I don't know. What would _you_ like to do for me?"

"Dobby with his freedom would serve Harry Potter for the rest of his days," Dobby said solemnly.

"That doesn't sound like much fun. I was hoping you would want to do something that you _enjoy_."

Dobby washed his hands over Harry's sock nervously and then twisted an ear. "Dobby would very much like to serve a Wizarding family… one that would not threaten and punish Dobby five times a day…" His floppy ears added to the overall impression that the house-elf was depressed. "But if Harry Potter does not find Dobby good enough… Dobby understands."

"No, no. It's fine. If you want to, I guess that's alright…" Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling sheepish. "You'll have to go to number thirty-seven on Spinner's End in Cokeworth. I don't think students are allowed to have house-elves here. And I really don't want you to try to save my life again if it means you'll try to grievously injure me in the process."

Dobby threw his arms around Harry's middle and hugged him. "Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" He sobbed out.

Harry patted the house-elf delicately on the head.

After what felt like a long, awkward moment to Harry, Dobby pulled away reluctantly. "Farewell, Master Potter! Dobby will make sure your place of residence is well-cleaned!" He shrilly proclaimed. With a loud crack, the house-elf disappeared before Harry could correct Dobby's choice of address.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Harry still felt grotty from his trip to the Chamber of Secrets despite the charms Professor Snape had cast on him. He was down a sock, but it had been lost to a good cause. He re-entered the Entrance Hall.

Inside, Harry saw a wall of students in pajamas in front of the Great Hall as if they had been expecting him.

As soon as the students saw him, they cheered loudly and boisterously. Hermione ran towards him throwing her arms about him, "You saved Ginny!"

Shyness settled onto Harry like a heavy cloak. He'd missed his best friend very much. He nodded, not trusting his words. The crowd settled down, wondering what they were going to talk about. No doubt they believed Harry had been dating her until Christmastime.

"Oh, Harry. I'm sorry I ever doubted you!"

"It's okay. _Loads_ of people did." Harry wondered how long she was going to hang around his neck, while he stood there awkwardly. Hermione obviously favored vanilla shampoo.

"I'm sorry…" She whispered.

Somebody whistled. Then somebody else yelled, "The destined pairing of Granger and Potter is back to life! Hooray!"

The watching crowd laughed and jeered.

Flustered, a blushing Hermione jerked back from Harry and adjusted her bushy long hair. "Who was that little creature hugging you earlier?"

"Er, Dobby. He's the house-elf who wanted me to leave Hogwarts. I freed him from the Malfoy family… they'd been abusing him, you see." Harry noticed that there were students everywhere in the hallway, trying to listen in on their conversation.

_"Oh!_" She said as if everything made sense.

"Well, we of the Pleasant Pals _never_ doubted Harry!" The Weasley twins caroused as they hung around each other's necks in outlandish bright red onesies. "Where's _our_ hug?" George asked petulantly, a giant blue 'G' on his chest.

"Yeah, I think your most _loyal_ fans deserve that much!" Fred chipped in with a similarly colored 'F' situated like George's.

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to them. Whenever he did, the Weasley brothers always reacted unpredictably and he had never really liked that.

"You should find your places within the Great Hall," Professor Snape's voice sniped.

"Run for your lives! It's Sir Snivellus Snape!" George yelled.

Harry's eyebrows raised sharply, and he stepped back from them. The irate expression on Professor Snape's face said it all.

"Oh, I think he heard you George," came the other twin's mocking sympathetic tone.

"All students, return to your House tables before I give you detention where you will be pickling fresh newt's eyes for the remainder of the school year. Potter, remain where you are," his guardian said harshly.

The corridor immediately cleared itself except for the four of them. Harry could hardly believe that the Weasley twins were so fool-hardy.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your _audacity_ to insult a professor of Hogwarts," Snape said to them as if he'd expected them to stay in defiance.

"It hardly matters since we've already lost the House Cup," George said flippantly.

"Yeah, I don't know what your problem is," Fred said dismissively.

"We would've thought you'd be happy—"

"—that our hero and daring champion—"

"—Parselmouth Potter—"

"—practically won the House Cup for Slytherin—"

"—with the two hundred points Dumbledore gave him—"

"For saving our sister's life," they finally said together.

Harry's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. That was a great sum of house points.

"I hardly think your Head of House would feel as you do should your house place last this year," Snape said in a threatening manner.

The two Weasleys exchanged a look. Fred yawned. George yawned back. Fred yawned again. George did in like.

Harry's jaw suddenly opened, and he took a deep breath.

"Hah! We got you, Harry!" With a spate of cackles, they ran back into the Great Hall.

Harry yawned once again. He licked his lips and rubbed his eyes. He almost didn't want to go eat. He was itchy and tired. "What was _that_ about?"

"Autonomous reflex," Snape said curtly.

Harry frowned. "I didn't see you yawn."

His guardian gave him a flat look.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Harry asked.

"_Muffliato,_" Professor Snape cast and then gave Harry a long-suffering look. "This summer is _not_ going to be a relaxing one for you. It has become extremely obvious to me that you have much to learn. After everything I have attempted to impart on you, you still chose to run headlong into danger and within an hour of escaping that death-trap you managed to taunt one of the most prominent figures of the Wizarding world into casting the Killing Curse upon you. Once again, blind, dumb _luck_ is the only reason you are standing here right now."

Harry stared. "I didn't—he—and Dobby protected me," the words stuttered.

"Elf Magic has no defense against the Killing Curse."

"Then... how...?"

The irritated look on Snape's face darkened considerably. "Am I to believe that you are so dense to think I wouldn't pursue you as you chased after a magically, politically, and financially powerful wizard, when I am too familiar of your habit of running directly into potentially lethal situations?"

Harry's mouth opened to protest, but then his cheeks colored and his head dropped in shame. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Lucius would not have attacked had you not revealed your bare ankle to him," Snape said unrelenting in his impromptu lecture. "He would have known all the same what you had done, similar to how we know that he'd deliberately given Ginevra Weasley the Dark Lord's old diary. Yet, you decided to taunt him judiciously." Snape looked down his nose at Harry. "Your unfortunate error of judgment was the flawed presumption that he would not murder you outright within Hogwarts."

The spots of color on Harry's cheeks disappeared as he felt queasy. He wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with him.

"I do not believe you have a death wish, but I find myself at a loss as to what to do with you besides educate you to the fullest of my capability."

"I understand, sir," Harry said roughly.

Professor Snape flicked his wand and the Silencing ward dropped. "_Go _eat something." The tall man turned and headed through the doors.

It seemed that directive was Professor Snape's fallback dismissal. Harry waited a moment until his Head of House had entered the Great Hall, before he followed after. Harry looked around, hardly believing his eyes that he was the only one _not_ wearing pajamas. His table cheered once they saw him. After all, the Slytherin hourglass had been Enlarged to hold the great number of emeralds that had fallen into it.

"Professor Snape told us what happened, but I can hardly believe it!" Theodore said. "I should have told him about the journal when you first picked it up."

Harry shrugged lightly, taking a bite of the slab of steak that had appeared before him. The rest of the table was filled with sweets.

He noticed Draco Malfoy was looking rather sourly in his direction farther down the table. "What's _his_ problem?"

"The headmaster's back," Sally-Anne piped in. "And there's a rumor that his father is about to be sacked as a school governor."

"_And_ he was a mite upset when Professor Snape told us after you'd been entered into Madam Pomfrey's care that you absolutely were not and had never been the Heir of Slytherin," Greengrass added.

"Wish you'd all had taken my word to begin with. Don't you think I would have _told_ you if I was?" Harry said to his year-mates.

"The thought _had_ certainly crossed my mind," Parkinson said. "But it was very exciting to pretend that it was true, wasn't it?"

When Harry looked disgusted, they all laughed.

The celebration lasted all through the night. Famished from his misadventures, Harry feasted heavily. Sir Nicholas floated across the room greeting everyone and even gave Harry a sharp nod. Ronald Weasley came not long after and thanked Harry for saving his sister's life. Then, Justin Finch-Fletchley had wrung his hands while he apologized for suspecting him, and there seemed no love lost by Colin Creevey who immediately took Harry's photo with a fancier, brand-new camera and grinned at him with his normal 'Hello, Harry!' chirp. Harry tried to offer the five Galleons he owed Creevey but the boy wouldn't take it.

Harry might have been annoyed by all the attention if he hadn't just spent the entire year being the unofficial Hogwarts Pariah. Smiling and back-patting attention was _much_ better than _suspicious_ glares and _fearful_ whispers. The Bloody Baron even seemed to be in higher spirits than was normal for him.

Around half-past three in the morning, the Great Hall doors opened. "Sorry, I'm late," Hagrid said as he strolled down the center of the room towards the High Table. "The owl that delivered my release papers got all lost an' confused. Some ruddy bird called Errol."

Harry swung his head towards the Gryffindor table. Ronald Weasley looked quite upset… or alarmed, Harry wasn't sure which one it was. The Slytherin grinned.

Hagrid stopped at the Slytherin table. "And I'd like to say that if it hadn't bin fer yeh, 'Arry… I would… still be you-know-where…" Hagrid's voice broke a little and his eyes looked a little wild and frightened. "So I'd just like to say thanks," Hagrid finished roughly.

Harry looked at Theodore who lifted an eyebrow. Harry stood up. "There's no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid." When Hagrid's eyes got all watery, Harry hugged him right around the middle like Dobby had done to him earlier.

Someone began to clap, and before Harry quite knew it most of the professors were clapping. He stepped back and clapped for Hagrid, not wanting to steal his thunder. The Slytherin table stood up and clapped behind Harry, causing him to grin even more. Soon the entire Great Hall was clapping madly and whistling.

Hagrid clapped his hands to his stomach. "I'm jus'…" He pointed towards the High Table and bobbed his head.

"Sure, go on," Harry said, and Hagrid went. Harry sat back down next to Theodore and Sally-Anne.

Professor Dumbledore stood at that moment, raising his hands for silence. "I would like to begin by saying: Welcome back, Hagrid."

Hagrid let out a cheer next to Professor Snape and toasted the air.

"Now, let us remember the reason for our celebration. Let's hear a round of applause for Professor Sprout, Professor Snape, and Madam Pomfrey, whose Mandrake Restorative Draught has been so successfully administered to all who had been Petrified."

The Great Hall exploded with cheers and thunderous applause. Dumbledore waved his hand down and nodded lightly. "Also in light of recent events, as a school treat all exams have been canceled."

Harry's eyes shot up to his guardian. The last part had Professor Snape scowling. The Professor of Potions shot an annoyed look towards Professor Dumbledore, who smiled merrily back. Then, Snape caught Harry staring and narrowed his eyes at him. Harry grinned and ducked his head down.

"Lastly, it is with great sorrow to announce that Professor Lockhart will be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he has lost all of his memory due to an unfortunate accident."

While only Hagrid cheered at the news at the High Table, not a single teacher looked unhappy to hear the news. Harry himself was over-the-clouds happy about it and didn't miss the satisfied smirk on Snape's face.

"What happened to Lockhart?" Harry asked his year-mates. Parkinson, Davis, and Bulstrode looked rather unhappy by the question.

"As the rumor mill puts it," Sally-Anne said, "upon hearing that his sister was in mortal danger, Ronald Weasley snuck out of the Gryffindor dormitories and into the staff room. He overheard the teachers talking and deliberating over what they should do when Professor McGonagall suddenly suggested that Lockhart be the one to go take care of the situation. The idiot had been telling all of them that he'd known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was and only needed the one reason to prove it."

Harry snorted, chomping on his last bit of steak.

"So, Weasley went to go tell the professor what he'd already found out about the Chamber of Secrets in the hopes that the professor would lead him there… only to find out that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a lying coward _and_ a cheating fraud."

Harry had to admit that Ron really did have his heart in the right place.

"Not wanting to be exposed, Lockhart began to cast a Memory charm when Weasley had a lucky break and successfully cast a Disarming charm—"

"A Memory charm?" Harry asked her curiously.

The Slytherins looked at him like he was daft.

"Oh that's right, Professor Flitwick won't cover that until our fifth year," Greengrass said dismissing Harry's ignorance. "It's a charm that alters one's memory. Apparently, that was how Lockhart was never caught as a fraud; he would alter a person's memory whenever they confronted him, and well, usually he addled their brains instead."

"So how did Lockhart's memory meet an unfortunate accident?" Harry asked them.

"Lockhart was obviously desperate enough to _snatch_ Weasley's wand right out of his hand!" Theodore laughed in his dramatic retelling. "And wouldn't you know? Lockhart's Memory charm meant for the Weasley rebounded back onto him!"

Harry chortled. "So, Lockhart's a dimwit now?"

"What a pity…" Greengrass didn't look sad at all as she smirked at Parkinson. "He was beginning to grow on me."

"Don't need to rub it in," Parkinson grumbled. "He fooled a lot of others too."

"Professor Snape did warn you," Sally-Anne quipped at Parkinson, who scowled to be reminded.

"Only stay-at-home witches were fooled," Theodore casually added.

The girls swatted at Theodore, who grinned wider and waggled his eyebrows at them. There was a pause and then Greengrass spat out, "Don't be rude!"

"Aw, come now, I was only having a bit of fun, spoilsport."

"You compared them to witches old enough to be their mums," Harry countered between bites of his dessert.

Theodore grinned. "Then they shouldn't take me so _seriously_. Besides, I think I might prefer older women."

Harry gave him a incredulous look.

"Theo, you haven't even stubble yet," Sally-Anne scoffed.

Theodore winked at Harry. "Some people know who they like even before they realize it themselves."

Shrugging off Theodore's odd statement, Harry thought ahead to the summer break when term would be over in two months. He was going to miss visiting his Slytherin friends then. He had a feeling that Snape was formulating a summer curriculum to keep his instinct and wits sharp against another likely attack by Voldemort in the future. He breathed out. Well, he supposed, it was better than dying prematurely.

* * *

Easter break passed smoothly. Without final exams to study for, classes were a breeze, and no one hardly noticed when there were no Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. In the second weekend of May, Harry caught the snitch in the the Slytherin match against Hufflepuff; Unless the Gryffindors won against the Ravenclaws with a great number of points, the Quidditch Cup all but belonged to the Slytherins.

The last weeks of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few differences. With Lockhart gone and the basilisk defeated, Harry had become the most popular student in Hogwarts. Other than the PP's PP, several other fan clubs had started. One by Colin Creevey was called the Potterhead Fan Club. For the most part, Harry treated his fellow students cordially, even as he avoided getting pulled into spontaneous photo-taking and autograph sessions. The fact that he hadn't killed the basilisk didn't make it into the 'official' unofficial story of his heroic rescue of Ginny Weasley; even though he tried to set the story straight, nobody believed him when he told them that Professor Snape was the real hero. Even his housemates thought he was being overly humble to the point of silliness.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape had created a special testing session for fifth- and seventh-year Slytherin students—and any other students from the other Houses who seemed anxious about missing them—to take their O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S. Being a second year, Harry didn't have to worry about those yet, but they _seemed_ important.

Nobody groaned about having to take them.

Word spread fast through Slytherin when the rumor that Lucius Malfoy would be sacked as a school governor for Hogwarts became reality. Draco had been acting resentful and sulky the entire remainder of the school term and hardly even bothered to greet Harry in the morning. It was a far cry from the time when Draco had called Harry 'your Grace' whenever they had a private moment together.

Too soon, it was time to journey back to London on the Hogwarts Express. Professor Snape would pick Harry up at Platform nine-and-three-quarters and take him to Cokeworth. Harry wondered what loose ends his guardian had to finish at Hogwarts that made it logical for Harry to take the train ride home. He supposed a normal twelve-year-old would have thought that the adult was allowing him an extra half day with his friends before spending the entire summer learning. Then immediately Harry chuckled at himself. Knowing his guardian, Harry thought it was likely both reasons at once.

Harry took a compartment with Theodore, Sally-Anne, Greengrass, Davis, Parkinson, and Bulstrode. It was quite crowded, but Harry didn't mind it. He was enjoying the last moments with his fellow Slytherins until next September. Bulstrode's nose was stuck in the book Harry had given her for Christmas called _The New Well-Tempered Sentence: A Punctuation Handbook for the Innocent, the Eager, and the Doomed_ by Karen Elizabeth Gordon.

Everyone else made the most of the hours they had left to perform magic before summer holiday. Harry transfigured a button on his shirt into a beetle and back again, while Theodore enjoyed casting Featherlight charms on the remaining Chocolate Frogs he had just unwrapped. The other girls were spelling each other to spout gibberish or foreign-sounding phrases with a Babbling Curse.

When they finally disembarked at King's Cross, Harry's guardian waited patiently behind the rows of excited parents helping their children with their things.

Harry bid his friends a final farewell and dragged his trunk with Hedwig in her owl cage towards Snape. "Hullo."

Snape nodded slightly and then peered over Harry's head.

Harry turned to see Lucius Malfoy escorting his son down the platform towards the only exit. "Draco's given me the cold shoulder ever since Dobby was freed," Harry said.

"You duped his father into releasing his personal house-elf. It's paramount to killing a family's dog," Snape said dryly. "I would have rather you hadn't made an enemy of Lucius Malfoy."

"Is it because he's…?" Harry murmured, aware of their not-so-private setting.

"Prideful and cruel with a hunger for power only matched by the longevity of his grudges?" His guardian filled in coolly.

"No… because he's a supporter of…" Harry darted his eyes towards the exit.

Snape's lips thinned. "We will talk more at length once we're at Spinner's End."

"Yes, sir."

His guardian pointed his wand at the trunk and luggage. The items hopped onto an empty trolley beside him.

Together they walked through the gateway to the Muggle World…

**~*The End*~**

* * *

**Preview of Harry and the Barking Rook**

_"What if… he's an Animagus?" Theodore's hesitant voice filled the silent, dark dormitory, airing the secret Harry had hidden from everyone for the better part of the year._

_"If he was," Harry began, "Why would he stay in Azkaban for twelve years if he could leave any time he wanted?" It was a question that had haunted Harry all year. If Black were guilty, he wouldn't have stayed... But why would someone who was innocent stay?_

_"Perhaps… he felt remorse for what he'd done. Maybe he felt he deserved Azkaban…"_

_"Then why did he leave?"_

_"…Maybe he felt he'd served long enough…?"_

_"What if…" Harry trailed off._

_"What?" Theodore prompted in a hushed whisper._

_"It's barmy."_

_"Spit it out," Draco's acidic voice whipped out from the bed to Harry's left. "__I might as well hear it now that I'm awake." _

_"What if he'd heard the news that I was taken away by the Dursleys and adopted by Snape…?"_

_"And if Black's an Animagus and your legal godfather… yes, it would make sense why he would try to attack Snape in Hogsmeade," Draco finished the thought for him. "Snape's between him and you."_


End file.
